


Holding the Sky

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was brutally killed during a hunt that also left Dean broken, living with borderline debilitating chronic pain and PTSD. To cope, Dean threw everything into building the perfect life for Sam. Five years later, they’re renting a house in suburbia where Sam is finishing his senior year. Sam slowly discovers the self-destructive lengths Dean has been going to for him and helps his brother towards recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Themes of dub-con, self-harm, substance abuse and prostitution
> 
> Author's Note: Pre-series AU written for spn_j2_bigbang over at LiveJournal. Gorgeous art for this story was done by the absolutely fantastic digitalwave and can be viewed at http://digitalwave.livejournal.com/556052.html
> 
> Major mega thanks to my marvelous betas cosmo_naught, tipsy_kitty and walking_tornado.

More than anything, Sam remembered the blood, cold and congealed over Dean’s pale skin. It had soaked into his jeans and stained the denim fibers black. Darkened splatters blotched his shredded t-shirt, the remains of his flannel spreading from his shoulders like broken wings.

Sam remembered time freezing. The only movement had been the lazy stream of crimson navigating the cracks in the dirty tiles to ooze down the rusty drain with a slow, methodical drips into the pipe below.

The world had stopped turning, tipping until everything fell from its axis. Sam remembered the grotesque snow angel painted in red, smeared over the linoleum where Dean had tried to crawl away. Sam’s legs had given out from beneath him.

Sometimes, it felt like he was still falling.

The blood-soaked memories were there, waiting every time he awoke in the dark. Even now, as he sat in the sun-dappled shade beneath the old maple tree, he didn’t see the softness of late spring. He saw his brother’s mangled body cooling on a dirty bathroom floor. He saw that blood, not the fresh bead that now swelled to the surface of his own finger.

The loud clunk of the mower running over a rock jerked Sam back. He stuck his finger in his mouth to suck away the crimson. He ignored the sting, needing the blood to stop only so it didn't smear across his homework. Damn paper cut.

He closed the offending textbook and pushed it aside. His gangly legs unfurled beneath the picnic table as he took in a deep breath. The air was heavy with the sweet smell of freshly cut grass.

Dean eased the mower over the pavement to the patch of grass between the sidewalk and the street. He winced as he heaved it around, struggling to maneuver in the small area. He ducked beneath the limbs of a cherry tree, steering the mower around the thick trunk. His expression had returned to neutral by the time he came back around.

Sam made a mental note to talk to Dean again about getting a self-propelled mower to replace the hulking piece of rust they’d found in the garage. Dean spent half of every other weekend repairing it just to get it to start. Sam wasn’t sure if Dean actually liked screwing with it or if he just didn’t want to admit that some things couldn’t be fixed.

Sam pulled his finger from his mouth, pressing at the nearly invisible cut as Dean idled the mower back down the driveway to the garage. The afternoon fell silent as the choking engine shut off. A moment later, Sam could hear the birds again.

Dean reemerged from the garage with a partially drank beer, still cold enough to sweat in the subtle afternoon warmth. A light sheen covered his skin and soaked a moist ring around the collar of his t-shirt.

Despite looking overheated, Dean still hadn’t taken off his flannel. He never did, not where one of the neighbors could walk by, not where he might have to explain what had gouged those scars down his forearms. It didn’t even matter that they only ever talked to one of their neighbors.

Dean brought his sleeve up to wipe his brow where his sweaty bangs clung to his forehead. Sam hid a smile at the soft highlights that were cropping up in his hair. The blond hairs were darker every year, but they were there every summer despite Dean’s insistence that he’d lost them when he was six. Just like he swore it was dirt, not freckles that dusted his fair skin.

His amusement faded as Dean crossed the lawn towards the picnic table. Sam watched his stride as he approached, eyes loosely focused somewhere between his homework and Dean’s ragged, grass strained jeans.

Dean’s limp was subtle today. Things weren’t too bad.

Sam had perfected the art of studying his brother’s movements without being caught. He could tell a lot about how Dean was feeling by the way he walked. When he felt good, Dean’s stride was almost normal. No one would ever guess he’d nearly had his leg torn off. When he was tired, the limp was subtle. On bad days, it was painful to watch him walk.

It wasn’t as reliable an indicator as Sam would have liked. Sometimes, it was just the weather or how much they had walked or sat that day. The accuracy also depended on whether or not Dean was distracted. Too often, Dean made a conscious effort to hide the pain and was stubborn enough to pretend to be okay even when it only made it hurt worse.

Dean nudged him, pulling Sam back to the moment. He looked up at his brother who nodded down at the picnic table. Sam shoved his homework sheet into his textbook and slid off the bench seat. He grabbed a side of the table and made sure he was the one walking backwards as they returned the table’s legs to its ruts in the grass.

Sam retrieved his pencil from where it had rolled off and climbed back into the seat. When he looked up, Dean was holding an unopened beer out to him.

Sam raised his brow. Dean knew he didn’t want a beer, not this long before dinner on a school night while he was still doing homework. Either it was Dean telling him to relax or hoping that Sam would refuse so he could drink the beer himself. Either way, Sam had to take it.

Dean clinked his bottle against Sam’s and sat down on the opposite side of the table. He didn’t scoot in, instead sitting with his legs pointing out and his back to Sam. He leaned against the table, resting his elbows on it, and stared up into the tree before taking another sip of his beer.

Sam set aside his unopened bottle. He picked at the worn wood of the table, peeling away a shallow splinter as he stared at Dean’s back.

He’d always liked his brother’s shoulders. They were lean, but solid with muscles that had protected Sam all his life. He’d spent years lying in the dark staring at Dean’s back for assurance during the long nights.

"Still rocking the calc or you back to writing that jacked up STD skit?" Dean asked. "What're you playing, again — the Clap or the condom?"

Those muscled shoulders tensed and flexed as Dean rolled his neck. When Sam didn't answer, Dean looked over his shoulder and cocked his brow.

Sam quickly looked down, fingers tracing the edge of his textbook. "Calculus, thank God. Mr. Anders is out sick so we got a sub and we’re watching some awful date rape movie."

"And they wonder why kids are so fucked up. Shouldn’t they show some real sex movies in sex ed?"

"I don't think Debbie Does Dallas has been approved by the educational board.” Sam rolled his eyes. “These aren’t how-to videos. We’re supposed to be learning about abstinence."

"Shows what those prude fuckers know. Dude, did they show that birthing video yet?"

“Yes, Dean, I know where babies come from.”

“Just checking.”

Dean ran his hand through his hair. He’d been keeping it long, not much shorter than Sam’s. Despite all the years he’d spent teasing Sam about his hair, Sam was starting to wonder if it was Dad, not Dean, who’d liked short hair.

Dean chugged the last of his beer before standing. He snatched Sam’s bottle from the table and held it out of reach when Sam grabbed for it.

“You snooze, you lose, Sammy,” Dean said.

He used his key chain to pop off the cap, flicking it at Sam. It bounced off his chest and landed on his lap. Sam wanted to be annoyed, but could see right through the attempted distraction. As Sam set the cap on the table, Dean was rubbing his thigh.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

“Getting out of your hair so you can work.”

“You’re not bothering me.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well, thanks for humoring me, but I gotta start marinating the chicken and the trash ain’t gonna take itself out.”

“Just leave it,” Sam said. “I can get the garbage later.”

“You just do your homework and leave us idiots to the manual labor.”

“You’re not an idiot, Dean.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to save you the biggest breast.”

Sam shook his and glanced at his watch. It was too early to actually be starting dinner and trash pickup wasn’t for two days. He knew Dean was only making excuses because his leg was already going numb from sitting on the table’s wooden boards. He wished Dean would just say so.

“Dean, I mean it. You’re gonna do fine on the tests.”

“Right.” Dean knocked back another gulp. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into paying to take hours of fucking tests just so I can wave around a crap piece of paper proving that I flunked high school.”

No matter how much he wanted to, Sam couldn’t correct Dean. No good would come of reminding him that he hadn’t flunked out. Dean had been seventeen when Dad died.

Dean had spent what should have been his senior year in pieces. When he’d come out of it, neither of them had wanted a damn thing to do with school. It was Dean who’d convinced him to go back, but Sam had failed to get Dean to do the same. Making him take the time to get his GED was the least Sam could do to make up for what Dean had lost.

“You helped me study for the SATs. You’re gonna do great, Dean.” Sam pulled a folded pink piece of paper from the back of his book and handed it to his brother. “Oh, yeah, and I need you to sign this.”

Dean snatched the slip from him with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you got sent to detention. What’d you do? Check out too many books from the library?”

“Hilarious, Dean. It’s just a permission slip for that field trip.”

“Oh, right, you guys are gonna go all Jane Goodall on the monkeys.”

“Apes and, no, we're going to see the sharks.”

Dean's eyes lit up. “Awesome. Bring on the great whites.”

Dean had already volunteered to come along as one of the adult chaperons. Given how uncomfortable Dean had become around people, Sam was glad there was a part of the trip that Dean could look forward to. He liked the idea of Dean getting out of the house for something other than work, even if fear and paranoia were the only reasons he was going.

“You’re the one who told me they can’t keep great whites in aquariums,” Sam said. “But they do have sandtigers.”

“Close enough.” Dean took the pencil from Sam and scribbled a signature that may or may not have been his before sliding it back across the table. “But you’re eighteen. Why the hell do they need your brother to sign your permission slip?”

Sam stared at the paper with a clenched jaw. Most kids were getting signatures from their parents while their brothers were out partying. Dean probably didn’t even know that because even when he’d been alive, Dad hadn’t been there to sign Dean’s forms. Dean was the only one who’d ever been there.

“I guess they just want to make sure you don’t sue them if something happens,” Sam said.

“Oh, I won’t sue them. If something happens to you, I’ll hunt their sorry asses. But I’m not gonna let anything happen and, dude, you’re old enough to forge my signature.”

“Why would I do that when you’re standing right here?”

Dean rolled his eyes like it was a ridiculous question and Sam knew Dean didn’t get it on any level. Parents or no parents, having someone else sign permission slips was normal. Besides, Dean had always been the one to forge Dad’s signature.

Sam didn’t want things to change just because he was a month older. He didn’t want anything to change.


	2. Chapter 2

A hard hand slapped Sam's shoulder. He groaned and rolled over to lie on his stomach, burying his head in his pillow. There was no way it was morning. Sam felt more exhausted than he had when he’d gone to bed.

"Rise and shine, Sammy."

Dean’s excessively cheerful tone grated his ears. A moment later, the covers were pulled down. Sam shivered at the room’s cool air on his legs. He flopped onto his back and glared up at Dean, heaving a pillow at him for good measure. Dean caught it with a tired smirk and threw it back at him.

The smell of coffee, black as graveyard dirt, drifted down the hall to shake off the last traces of sleep. Even though it felt as if he’d just gone to bed, the sun was bright through the curtains and Dean had already showered. Sam sat up, brushed his bangs aside, and watched Dean go about his morning routine.

He was already limping. Sam had assumed that Dean would skip his morning walk since they were going to spend the day walking around the zoo. A worse possibility than Dean being stubbornly engrained in his routine was that maybe he had skipped the walk and was already hurting without it.

A glimpse of the darkening bruise on his side reminded Sam why he hadn’t slept. Neither of them had. Dean had once again spent the night thrashing in their bed, fighting the monsters only he could see.

Sam quickly dressed and found Dean in the kitchen. He was alternating between stirring scrambled eggs and rolling sizzling sausage links. Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and refilled Dean’s before plopping down at the table.

He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It wasn’t until he looked up again that he saw that Dean was also making sandwiches for lunch. Sam downed a gulp of coffee, almost burning his tongue, then set aside the mug as he stood.

“I got these,” Sam said.

Dean jumped back when Sam’s shoulder brushed his. The butter knife that had been balanced in the mayonnaise jar thunked onto the counter, leaving the mostly empty jar rolling on its side. Dean scrambled for the knife, coiled and ready to fight.

Sam stepped back with his hands held out where Dean could see them and waited for his brother to return to himself. As they both stood frozen, a glob of mayonnaise plopped from the knife onto the floor.

Dean’s eyes focused on the small splatter as it hit the peeling harvest gold laminate. He dropped his head, cursing beneath his breath before turning around and throwing the knife into the sink. Sam jumped as the metal clanked.

“Sorry,” Sam said.

“For what?”

Dean had already returned to the stove. Sam wanted to talk about it, but had learned not to push. Dean was better. He was getting better all the time.

Sure, maybe he still freaked out sometimes, but he was talking and leaving the house. He was even interacting with people at work in what must be a socially acceptable way considering that he’d managed to hold the same job for almost three years.

It was all a far cry from what the doctors had said. They’d talked about permanent institutionalization and indefinite medication, words that still haunted them both. While they might have known psychiatric medicine, they hadn’t known Dean.

Sam righted the mayonnaise jar. He straightened out the half-made sandwiches and went to work finishing them.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Dean asked when he finally turned back to Sam. “I got this.”

“How about you worry about one meal at a time? I can make a sandwich.”

“No, you can’t,” Dean said. “You don’t put on enough of…anything.”

Sam squirted a disgustingly huge pile of mustard onto Dean’s sandwich then sent his brother a challenging look. “That enough for you?”

Dean considered the sandwiches before shrugging. “Fine, but you try sneaking any of that green shit into mine and I will kick your ass.”

Sam pretended to fold a lettuce leaf between two slices of ham. Dean jabbed him lightly in the side and Sam relaxed. His eyes were far more focused on Dean than on the sandwiches as they worked side by side in the small kitchen.

Dean became quiet again before glancing back at Sam. “I’ve started setting aside some cash to get you your own bed.”

“I don't want one.” The words tumbled quickly from Sam’s mouth. When Dean looked confused, Sam explained. “I mean, you should use the money for a new lawnmower. We don’t need another bed.”

It wasn’t until Dean said it that Sam realized just how much he didn’t want his own bed. Even if every morning brought fresh bruises, it was more than worth it for the assurance that Dean was still at his side.

He knew Dean felt the same. It was Dean who sometimes reached out in his sleep, searching for Sam. He was sure Dean didn’t know he did it or he would’ve bought a second bed long ago, but Sam secretly prayed for those nights. He never felt as safe as he did when Dean held him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean said. “We only have one bedroom. You’ll just have room to stretch out those mutant legs of yours. I mean, come on, sharing a bed with your brother? Not exactly normal there, Sammy.”

“I'd rather be with you than be normal.”

Dean didn't respond as he dished up Sam's eggs, but Sam saw all the reaction he needed in Dean’s soft, hidden smile.

“Is that sexy teacher of yours coming along?”

Sam snorted. “If you mean Mr. Conway, then yeah.”

“That bald old scrawny guy? Dude, what happened to that chick who was rocking the Mrs. Robinson vibe?”

“That’s my chemistry teacher and gross.”

Dean smirked as he settled into the chair across from Sam. “So when do we get to go on a chemistry field trip?”

***

Sam sighed as he slid across the cracked vinyl seat to sit by the window. Dean had gotten himself so worked up about leaving the Impala in a lot full of student drivers that Sam had had to stop him from pulling out his whiskey flask in front of the high school. 

So maybe he had forgotten to tell Dean that part of chaperoning meant riding in the stinky old school bus. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but only half the class was loaded in and Dean was already shifting in his seat like he wanted to throw himself out the fire exit. 

Sometimes Sam wished they could just go somewhere like normal people. He didn’t want to have to worry about what might set Dean off anymore than he wanted Dean to feel like he had to go on high alert every time they walked out of the house. 

Sam tried to remind himself that Dean had probably never even been on a school bus before. Dad had never trusted them, and given that Dean still insisted on driving Sam to school, he was pretty sure that Dean didn’t either.

“Dean, it’s okay.”

Sam rested his hand on Dean’s leg to help center him. Then Sam kicked himself as the tensing of Dean’s thigh muscle beneath the worn denim told him exactly why Dean was so desperate to be anywhere but here. 

It wasn’t where the Impala was parked or even the fact that he was surrounded by people. Dean couldn’t sit in this cramped seat for an hour. Sam should have thought about that before anything else. 

Even sitting in the Impala bothered Dean. His brother had never said as much, but it was obvious by how short of distances Dean drove before claiming he had to go to the bathroom or needed a snack break. It was just one more reason Dean hated his leg and now Sam had him squished into a bus full of people with no way to get comfortable and nowhere to go when it hurt. 

“Come on.” Sam nudged Dean to get up. “We don’t have to go.”

Dean scrunched his face. “What? We’re already on the bus and you promised me sharks.”

“We should at least sit up front. There’s more room up there.”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the roomier front seat. Sam tried to push him out of their seat before Dean got a good look, but he didn’t make it before Dean caught sight of the handicap placard and pushed back against Sam to hold his ground. 

“Fuck that.”

“Dean…”

“I said no.”

Sam huffed and scooted back over tight to the window. He pulled in his legs in to give Dean as much room as possible. It pushed the pack on his lap up under his chin as his right sneaker slid on the wheel well and his knees jammed into the seat in front of him. 

It was just his luck that the boy sitting in that seat was Tony Richmond, the football team’s lead quarterback. Tony strutted around like he was God’s gift to Riverside High and insisted that soccer somehow didn’t qualify as a sport. 

Admittedly, Sam had snuck a peek in the locker room and couldn’t deny that Tony was good-looking, but he wasn’t Dean. Tony and Dean were both solid muscle, but Dean was lean and his muscular angles soft while Tony was blocky with a square head and dull eyes.

Tony’s girlfriend, head cheerleader Julie, would dump him in a second for Dean’s defined cheekbones and full lips. Dean’s eyes didn’t shine like they used to, but they still drew everyone in, maybe even more than before with mystery hidden behind them. 

They weren’t ten minutes into the trip before Tony started shooting glares over his shoulder at Sam while sizing up Dean. Sam didn’t care that his mumbled apologies weren’t enough to appease Tony. All he cared about was the fact that his brother was uncomfortable because of him. 

Once they hit the highway, the loud rumble of the bus’s diesel engine roared loud enough to mask most of the conversations. Tony pressed back in his seat and growled over his shoulder at Sam. 

“I swear to God, Winchester, jab me with your bony knee one more time and I’m gonna break it.”

“Shove it as far as it’ll go, Meaty,” Dean said. 

Julie brushed aside her wavy blond locks as she turned to look at Dean. He smiled at her in that flirty way that Sam had nearly forgotten that Dean could do. It was effortless and perfect and, with a sense of smug satisfaction, Sam could see Tony’s blood starting to boil. 

“You some old dropout or something?” Tony asked.

Sam winced at the words. He knew that was how Dean thought of himself sometimes. It was complete and total crap that Dean would still take it to heart coming from a stranger’s mouth. Sam leaned forward to tell Tony exactly what he thought, but Dean spoke first.

“What’s it to you, asshat?” 

Tony turned in his seat to stare down Dean. “You wanna go, princess?” 

“Oh my God, Tony.” Julie grabbed his shoulder to steer him back into his seat at the same moment that Sam grasped Dean’s arm. “What are you, like two years old? He’s just here to help with the field trip.”

“I don’t care who he’s helping, no pretty boy and his pet giraffe are gonna be jackasses around my girl.” Tony’s arm rested passively over Julie’s shoulder as he glared at Dean. “Aren’t you supposed to be an adult?” 

“Aren’t you jocks supposed to be hot?” Dean asked. 

It took a moment for Sam to realize that he was staring at Dean with the same dumb open-mouthed look that Tony was. Dean’s comebacks tended to deteriorate when he was hurting, but Sam was fixated on the thought that his brother would look enough at a guy to know whether or not he was attractive. 

“Are you done?” Julie asked when Tony kept staring. “Either get a room or leave him alone.”

Tony muttered something beneath his breath, but Dean was the only one who looked like he wanted to argue. Dean didn’t like anyone helping him in any way. He seemed to equate it to people feeling sorry for him or thinking he couldn’t defend himself. 

Dean just didn’t get what people saw when they looked at him. They did stare when he walked into a room, but it wasn’t because of the limp or the scars, both of which most never saw. It was just him. Dean walked into a room like he dared anyone to tell him he couldn’t be there and, even if Dean thought it was only a joke, he really was gorgeous. 

Sam realized he was still staring when Dean stood up. Dean braced one hand on the seat, stretching as the bus barreled down the highway. 

“Dean, what’re you doing?” 

“Going for a walk.”

Sam rolled his eyes and dropped his bag onto the seat beside him, taking the opportunity to stretch his own cramped legs. He wanted Dean to sit back down, but knew he wouldn’t have to be the one to tell him to. He didn’t have to be a bus rider to have heard the tales of Carol the Crab. 

“Sir, you need to sit down,” Carol said, only a few seconds after Dean had started walking down the aisle. “I won’t have you causing an accident. Do not make me pull this bus over.” 

Sam expected Dean to shoot back some smartass retort, but instead he casually turned around and walked to the front of the bus. Carol looked ready to throw him out the door until Dean crouched down beside her chair and gave her his best smile. 

His words were lost beneath the turmoil of the bus’s engine. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he tried to read Dean’s lips. He decided he didn’t want to when Carol blushed. She nodded down at him and Dean stood before squeezing her shoulder. 

He went on to walk to the back of the bus before returning to stand beside Sam with his weight leaned against the seat. When they hit the off ramp, he settled back down, sitting sideways with his legs kicked out into the aisle as if he owned the bus. 

It was weird seeing Dean comfortable around others and it was the first time since Sam could remember that Dean had used his charm to get what he wanted. Sam thought he liked it until Dean started flirting with one of the girls from Sam’s class. 

Sam ignored Dean’s attempts to drag him into the pathetic excuse for a conversation. Marie thought they were talking about cell biology, but Sam knew for a fact that mitochondria weren’t what Dean thought they were.

***

They couldn’t have pulled into the zoo parking lot soon enough. As they climbed off the bus, Sam elbowed Dean in the side. 

“Ow,” Dean grunted. “What was that for? I thought she was a senior. You gotta give me a hint here. Which ones are eighteen?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?”

Dean scoffed before stepping up onto the parking curb and turning around to address the students that were milling in the parking lot around the bus. “Anyone who’s in my group better haul ass or you’re gonna have to pay your own way in.” 

Sam didn’t bother telling Dean that wasn’t how it worked. He was too busy worrying about Dean making it to the entrance, let alone leaving any of the students in his group behind. 

They were in the top lot of the multi-tiered parking lot that was built into a steep hill. There were several long sets of stairs that led down to the zoo below. Dean didn’t seem the least bit fazed, continuing on about the girls as he headed down the first set of stairs. 

“Everybody cares,” Dean said. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Sam tightened the grip on his pack. “None of them.”

“Dude, seriously. I might have finished school if I’d known this was what a senior biology class had to offer.”

"God, Dean, will you just knock it off?" 

“What crawled up your ass?”

Sam took a deep breath, trying to push the tension from his body when he couldn’t come up with an answer. This was Dean. Flirting was what he did, only he hadn’t been. Not since they’d settled here. 

Sam wasn’t sure if it was his leg or the scars or the panic attacks, but Dean hadn’t been sleeping around. As far as Sam knew, Dean hadn’t been with anyone since they’d lost Dad. Sam had forgotten how much he hated watching Dean throw himself at anything with a pulse like he of all people had to settle in order to get laid. 

Since they’d moved here, Sam had only seen Dean flirting by accident, falling back on the old habit when he felt uneasy. Dean didn’t seem uneasy now. He only seemed determined as he checked out the other students. 

They stopped after the second flight of stairs. Dean leaned back against the railing, making random comments to usher the students forward like he’d been hired to direct traffic. He might be fooling the others, but he sure wasn’t fooling Sam as he stood there rubbing his leg. 

Dean tipped his head up towards the blue sky hiding behind the thick canopy of pine trees that shaded the path. He closed his eyes as the wind blew back his hair then rolled his neck and winked at Sam. 

The corner of his lips curved up just enough to ease Sam’s concern. After the others passed, Dean’s arm slipped around Sam’s shoulder and the last bits of tension eased from Sam’s body. 

Sam leaned into his brother as they continued down the steps. He only pulled away when they had to slip through the turnstile at the main entrance. 

Dean picked a meeting spot for their group beside the fountain that sat in the middle of the courtyard. Water splashed down from a concrete whale at the center while the sun sparkled off the spray and highlighted Dean’s hair. 

Dean addressed the group as if he were a general sending his soldiers off to war or maybe a prison warden. Sam missed the specifics, but was pretty sure it had involved shark bait and flying monkeys. 

After he finished laying his ground rules, the group split up and Dean moved on as if he already knew where he was going. They headed down a hill to a pen of pygmy goats that were standing along their fence eating treats out of visitors’ hands. 

Sam rolled his eyes when he realized it wasn’t the goats Dean was gravitating towards. Dean settled against the fence, oblivious to the goat chewing on his flannel, and began making small talk with a girl who was standing there taking notes. 

She smiled at him, far too interested, and Sam stomped forward to grab Dean’s arm. He apologized to the girl, who he didn’t even think was from his school, and pulled Dean away. 

“Hey!” Dean protested, shoving Sam back. “I wanna pet the damn goats.”

“The last time we petted a goat, you and Dad used it as bait to track down a nest of chupacabras. Dean, what are you really doing? That girl isn’t even your type.”

"Uh, she's hot so, yeah, she is, but that’s not the point. I know you're looking for brains and someone to accompany you on those long sits at the library." 

“You’re trying to hook me up?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously, Dean? That’s what this is about? You think I need my big brother to pick me up girls?” 

“I’ve never seen you with one so…yeah. Apparently you do.”

“I don’t want a girl, Dean.”

“Don’t tell me you and the Hulk got something going.”

“Tony? Ugh, no. Just forget it.” Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and steered him towards a bench beneath the nearest tree. “Come on, we should sit down for a minute.”

They were heading up another hill and Dean was already trying too hard not to limp. He was going to wear himself out before the day even got started. 

Dean pushed him off. "Just admit it if you can’t keep up, Sammy, and stop changing the subject.”

“Dean we’re going to be here all day. I just think you should pace yourself.” 

“Get out your map and figure out where they’re holding Clyde hostage." 

Sam shook his head as he unfolded the zoo map to look for the orangutan exhibit. “Yeah, no one’s changing the subject here.”

The eerie calls of primates echoed through the air, but it was hard to say which direction they were from. Sam had finally figured out where they were on the map when Dean slapped his shoulder. 

“Holy shit, there’s a fucking chupacabra right there. And you said there’d be nothing to hunt.”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze to a harnessed aardvark being walked by a zookeeper surrounded by a group of elementary students. He knew Dean didn’t actually think it was a chupacabra because he was probably the only person in western Washington to have actually seen more than one.

“That’s an aardvark, and you shouldn’t talk about hunting at a zoo.” Sam nudged Dean to the right. “Come on, they got red wolves over this way.”

“I wanna see Clyde and sharks, not dogs.”

“They’re on the way.”

“No wolves.”

It was a tone Sam had no intention of arguing with, especially having no idea what would set Dean off. “Okay, but I have to write about ten different species and they can’t all be sharks.”

“That’s a stupid rule. How about nine sharks and an orangutan?” Dean shrugged at Sam’s look. “Eight sharks, an orangutan and that creepy ass chupacabra-vark?”

“No and no. This isn’t an auction, Dean. Sharks count as one.” Sam stopped as he saw a sign pointing towards the nocturnal house. “Do you want to see the bats?” 

“Fine. But if I see Dracula, I am staking his ass.”

“Okay, but just check with me first.” Sam repositioned his pack, fiddling with the strap as they walked. “Dean, speaking of dogs—”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything yet.”

“You said enough.”

“Will you just listen? Ms. Baker’s son is getting married so she’s going to be in Florida for a few days. I told her we’d watch her dog while she’s away.”

Ms. Baker was one of the only people aside from Sam that Dean actually talked to. She’d been Sam’s English teacher when they’d first moved here and was still their next-door neighbor. She’d been there to help them get settled while Dean had still been working on getting back on his feet. 

“That black dog fenced out in her yard?” Dean stopped walking and turned to glare at Sam. “Why would you agree to that?”

Ralph was a bouncing golden retriever, so Sam knew Dean wasn’t referring to the color of the dog. He also wasn’t sure if Dean had ever been exposed to a dog that wasn’t treading a crossroad or trying to rip out his throat. Getting Dean to watch one as a favor to Ms. Baker seemed like the perfect way to show him that dogs weren’t inherently evil. 

“Because she’s always helped us out,” Sam said. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal to take care of her dog.”

“You know I’m all for repaying debts, but doesn’t she have some poltergeists or something we could take care of?”

“Uh, no, and it’s just for a couple of days. All we have to do is go over and feed it. Maybe take it for some walks.”

“Last time she tried to walk it, that thing dragged her out in front of a car. At best, it’s possessed. The most help we could give her with that dog is a silver bullet to the heart.”

Sam cringed when they got an uneasy look from a passing mother pushing a stroller up the ramp. She grasped her older child’s hand, pulling the pre-schooler closer and picking up her pace. 

This was just one more reason they never went out. Dean didn’t seem to see the people around him anymore and always talked like Sam was the only one there. Sam had never really pushed the issue because he was afraid the answer was that Dean just didn’t care anymore. 

“He’s not possessed,” Sam whispered. “He’s a dog. He likes chasing squirrels and Ms. Baker isn’t strong enough to stop him. He’s not gonna be any trouble. Besides, I still think it’d be cool to get a dog of our own some day. It could go on your morning walks and watch the house.”

“Look, you wanna dogsit? Fine, but that thing’s not coming anywhere near our house or my car and I’m sure as hell not walking it anywhere.” 

“Dean…”

“Drop it, Sam, or I’ll drop you.” 

Dean sounded serious enough that Sam let him walk ahead. Dean huffed up the hill far faster than he should and jerked to a stop halfway when a leg cramp seemed to hit him. Dean gripped the railing and stood there as if he was waiting for Sam to catch up. 

“Now where are these fucking vampire bats?” Dean called back at him. 

Sam rolled his eyes and jogged past the other visitors to catch up with Dean if only so that Dean would stop cursing loud enough for every kindergartner in the entire zoo to hear. He stopped beside Dean, relaxing as his brother leaned in to him to look at the map. 

“We need to take the next left,” Sam said.

They followed a group into the next building. As soon as the door shut behind them, the bright light of day cut to darkness. The walls were faux rock and the screeching sound of night played over the speakers. 

Sam felt Dean go rigid beside him. 

He’d thought bats would be good for a laugh with Dean making bad old horror movie references. What he hadn’t considered was that the nocturnal house would be mimicking night so the bats would be active. 

It wasn’t as if either of them were afraid of the dark, but for both of them it meant a danger that most wouldn’t understand. It didn’t bother Sam anymore, not when Dean was there, and he knew Dean wasn’t so much scared as he was going into hunter mode. 

Dean’s hand moved to rest at the small of his back as if he were reaching for the gun he’d used to carry there. That was enough signal to Sam that not only did Dean not want to be here, but it wasn’t safe for anyone that he was. 

“This place is crowded,” Sam said. “The bats are probably going to be hiding anyway. Let’s pick a different animal.”

“I’m fine.”

Sam pressed in closer to pretend that he was uneasy as Dean obviously felt. “I know you are, but I’m not.” 

Dean’s eyes focused back in on him, leaving behind whatever monsters he’d set his sights on. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder and led him back out into the light. With the heat of the sun again on their skin, Dean nudged him, taking off down a new path before Sam could say anything. 

“I hear water,” Dean said. “I think the sharks are down here." 

Sam knew the sharks weren’t down in the arctic exhibit, but Dean was already heading that way so he followed along behind his brother. He was less interested in the massive walrus swimming around its tank than he was with watching Dean’s steps on the slippery rocks. 

Dean followed the walrus further down the rocky ramp until they made it to the underwater viewing of another exhibit at the bottom. Maybe he did think they were sharks because Dean pushed through the crowd until his hand rested on the condensing glass. 

Dean didn’t seem disappointed when it was the white belly of a beluga whale that swept by in front of him. He almost looked like he was enjoying himself until he turned around to search for Sam. 

Something caught Dean’s eye and he froze amidst the swarm of children whose excited cries echoed around them. Sam nearly tripped over several of them as he rushed forward to join his brother’s side, grasping Dean’s arm and following his gaze. 

There was a giant cutout of white fur in the shape of a standing polar bear mounted to the cement wall. It was supposed to be demonstrating the height of an adult bear, but Sam knew that wasn’t what Dean was seeing. 

They’d said it was a bear attack. That’s what the officials claimed had killed Dad and broken Dean because obviously there were a lot of bears wandering into New Jersey Wal-Mart bathrooms. Sam still didn’t know what it had really been. Dean still wouldn’t talk about it. Sam squeezed Dean’s arm tighter. 

Dean looked confused as he scanned the crowd, but his expression eased when his eyes found Sam. “So where the hell are these sharks?”

***

They’d settled down on a bench for lunch after checking in with the other students. At the bottom of the hill, an animal trainer was putting on a show with a macaw and a baby orangutan that had Dean engrossed between bites of his mustard oozing sandwich. 

“We gotta get an orangutan sidekick,” Dean said.

“You think a dog is crazy, but you want a two hundred pound primate riding in the backseat?”

“Well, not in the car. We’ll get him a sidecar. Like Robin.”

“The Batmobile doesn’t have a sidecar.”

Dean shrugged. “Mine will.”

“Yeah, because that sounds street legal.” Sam balled up the plastic wrap from his sandwich and stuffed it back in the bag. “I thought I was Robin, anyway.”

“Dude, you’re way cooler than Robin and you don’t even need the douche-y cape…shit.”

“What?”

“When do you need to order that new soccer uniform?” Dean asked. 

“Well, we’re supposed to order it by this weekend, but you didn’t say anything about it so…if we’re broke, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay if the team’s star player doesn’t have a fucking uniform. Like Batman’s gonna sweep in with his business suit and save the day? I don’t think so. I can swing it.”

Sam took a sip of his cola and raised his brow. “Legally?”

Dean finished off his sandwich and dug the Ziploc bag of chips out of the paper sack. Sam reached out to snatch the empty sack as the breeze caught it. He stuffed a bit of it under his thigh without taking his eyes off of Dean. 

“No stealing, scams or hustling," Dean promised. 

And he had promised. Dean had sworn that they’d do things right here. Sam was pretty sure that Dean only went along with it because the logistic of running credit card scams from a fixed location was more work than just getting a job and it wasn’t as if either of them were looking to get rich. 

It had been Dean's favorite pastime of hustling that had pushed Sam over the edge. Dean had limped in late one night with a bloody lip, bruised ribs, and a cut on his arm that said someone had taken a swipe at him with a knife. They didn’t live near anywhere that had an influx of new people coming through and the locals had gotten tired of Dean’s crap. 

Sam had made him promise that was it. He never wanted to have to worry about Dean getting himself hurt over something as stupid as money. 

He hadn't actually believed that Dean would stop, but the next morning Dean had been reading the help wanted section of the paper. In under a week, he’d started his job at the garage. 

Sam looked up when Dean nudged him. 

“Come on,” Dean said. “We’re gonna miss the last feeding.”

Sam grabbed their garbage and hopped off the bench to hustle after Dean. They’d already seen every other shark feeding of the day. Sam didn’t actually get what was so awesome about giant fish eating off a pole, but he loved watching the fascination in Dean’s eyes. 

They headed back down the familiar bamboo-lined path and past the replica of the explorer’s cabin that Dean had spent part of the afternoon sitting in, despite the ropes that sectioned it off as a display only area. Sam had gone along with it because he could tell the crowds were wearing on Dean. 

This was the longest Dean had been in constant contact with people other than Sam since they’d moved here. Dean seemed oblivious to them once again as he waded through the crowd, down the stairs and to the front of two-story shark tank. 

The lights were low in the building, but the bright aqua light that filtered through the water seemed to be enough to keep Dean at ease. Sam stayed close by while still giving Dean his space as children swarmed around his brother. Dean seemed as relaxed by the anonymity of the crowd as he did when they sat alone watching the stars in their backyard. 

Dean made sure the little kids could see, helping to move some of the shorter ones to the front, so he had to at least be partially conscious of the people around him. He just seemed happier when he thought people didn’t see him and didn’t notice the grateful looks from the parents of the kids he did make room for. 

Sam hadn’t been watching the sharks and only knew that the feeding was over when the flood of people began to drain away. He headed down the steps to stand beside Dean. 

Dean’s hand rested against the thick acrylic glass. His neck craned back as he watched the reef sharks circle above. He only looked away from them as a large nurse shark hovered over the sandy bottom a few feet from the wall of the tank. 

“They are pretty cool,” Sam said.

“Yeah.”

The word was nearly a sigh that sounded as tired as Dean looked. He stared out into the open water, somewhere beyond the point that the lights faded into the depth. He massaged his thigh before stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Sam put his arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, Dean, I want to see the lagoon again before we go.”

He led Dean back to the previous room, which was now empty. The air was thick with moist heat from the giant reef tank that was build up from the floor and stood about as tall Sam’s chest. Above the tank, the exhibit was done up like a beach with a tropical sunset painted on the back wall. There was a bench in front of the tank and that was all Sam really wanted. Dean needed to sit down before they had to climb the stairs back up to the bus. 

While Sam headed over to sit, Dean wandered over to the tank. Sam went back to grasp his arm, but didn’t reach it before Dean clamored up the artificial rocks on the side of the exhibit. 

He and Dean had used to scale chain link fences all the time, but he hadn’t seen Dean climb anything since before the last hunt. The sight of Dean climbing had distracted him enough to momentarily make him forget Dean was climbing into an exhibit. 

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam hissed at him.

Dean walked unevenly around the shells that scattered the sand. He lowered himself with a grimace beneath one of the fake palms, partially obscured by the vegetation before he looked back at Sam.

“You coming up or not?”

He should have said no, but couldn’t. Dean looked so peaceful sitting there lit by the diffuse light of the shimmering waters. Given what he’d been through, if Dean wanted to sit in the sand, he should be able to. 

Sam glanced around before hauling himself up the moist rocks and jumping down into the sand. They were leaving in a few minutes anyway, whether or not they got kicked out. He settled down next Dean, crossing his legs so his knee rested against Dean’s thigh. 

His eyes were solely on Dean as his brother watched the brightly colored fish darting in and out of the fake coral. They sat silently listening to the recording of jungle birds and the lapping of waves against a beach somewhere far from here. 

Dean’s gaze remained fixated on the life below the water even as Sam shifted beside him, keeping watch and listening for the doors to open. He couldn’t get Dean an orangutan, but he should get him a fish tank. 

"Do you think they get it?" Dean asked. "They're just swimming in circles."

Tension bunched Sam’s shoulders as he looked Dean between and the fish that seemed happy enough in their fake lagoon. "It's a 24,000 gallon tank. They got room to do what they want."

"As long as what they want is to swim in circles all day spinning their damn wheels. They can run all they want. These fish ain't going anywhere until they get flushed down the toilet."

Sam focused his gaze on the fish while Dean absently rubbed his leg beside him. "Maybe they like it here even if it’s not where they meant to end up,” Sam said. “They’re safe. Nothing’s going to jump out of the dark and rip them apart.”

“There’s sharks right around the corner and they don’t even know it.”

“There might be sharks out there, but they can’t get over here.”

Dean lifted a fistful of white sand and let it slip between his fingers. He looked past the silk palm fronds to the painted sea. “This place isn’t even real.”

“It’s really their home.”

Dean met his eyes for an uncomfortably long moment before nodding and looking away. Sam was too thrown off to say anything more. His mind was racing as Dean leaned to the side to dig into his pocket. 

“Do you think they like potato chips?” Dean asked.

He had apparently not finished his lunch and was opening the bag with the remaining crushed chips. Sam glanced to the side when he saw movement coming around the lagoon’s beach.

Sam scampered to his feet. “No, but I think those giant crabs probably do.”

“Super.” Dean started to push up, but plopped back down on his ass before his feet could take over. “Son of a bitch.”

Sam looked down at Dean and could tell by the way he was trying to rub the feeling back into his calf muscle that it had fallen asleep. Dean poured the chip crumbs into his hand and heaved them towards the approaching coconut crabs before leaning back against the trunk of the palm tree. 

“You’re gonna have to go on without me, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s melodramatics and bent down to wrap his arm around Dean’s waist. Dean half grabbed on to Sam and half used the palm to pull himself up until his feet were once again beneath him. 

Sam’s height had yet to translate to bulk and Dean was still stronger, but that didn’t mean that Sam couldn’t carry his weight. He wished that Dean would let him do it more often, and finally understand that Sam would never leave without him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam hung in the doorway to the laundry room. Dean was shuffling around in between drinks, refusing to sit while obviously in pain. Sam thought his brother was going out of his way to ignore him as Dean emptied the contents of the drier into a basket, but Dean startled when he turned and nearly walked into Sam.

Dean tugged the basket back when Sam tried to take it from him. “Go finish your reading.”

“If I read any more my eyes are going to fall out.”

“Then go watch some TV,” Dean said as he slipped around Sam on his way to the bedroom. “I think _Knight Rider_ ’s on.”

“Dean, you’re the one who likes _Knight Rider_ for reasons that are totally beyond me. Why don’t you go watch it?”

“’Cause I’m folding the clothes.”

“I can fold my own clothes.”

Dean dumped the basket onto the bed and started sorting through the pile. At first Sam thought Dean was separating it based off whose clothes were whose, but they were all Sam’s clothes and Dean was only sorting it into types.

Sam tossed some socks out of the way to dig deeper into the pile. “Do you even own more than two t-shirts?”

“I can only wear one at a time. What the hell would I do with more than two t-shirts?”

“Why do I have a dozen?”

“Because you’re a prissy clothes whore. Now give me my damn socks back.”

Dean reached across the bed for the socks Sam had tossed aside, but stopped halfway. He grunted and stood again, rubbing the small of his back.

“Dean, you need to sit down.”

“Sitting is making my back hurt. I just need another drink.”

Dean claimed that alcohol was his medicine and that he only drank to ease the pain. Maybe Dean had even convinced himself that was why he’d been drinking like Dad since before he’d been old enough to vote. What he didn’t acknowledge was that the pain wasn’t only physical.

There was nothing wrong with Dean’s back, technically, but it hurt him a lot of the time. He didn’t mind talking about that because apparently a bad back was totally different than a bum leg. Backs just hurt sometimes, especially in a job like Dean’s.

Sam knew it was Dean’s theory. He also knew it was a load of crap. Dean’s back hurt worse on days when his leg was acting up because it got skewed from him favoring his left leg. Sam could see it from the way Dean walked, but Dean either didn’t get it or wouldn’t admit it.

Either way, Sam didn’t point it out because he wanted Dean to tell him when it hurt and he could never ask how his leg was. Talking about that was a cardinal sin, right up there with stealing candy from babies and blowing up school buses. Only worse. If Sam did dare to ask about it directly, Dean looked at him as if he honest-to-God had no idea what Sam was talking about.

Dean didn’t say anything further and went about folding clothes. Sam did the same, folding his sweatshirt as he watched Dean. Dean had been in a foul mood all night and Sam was afraid that it had nothing to with his leg or back.

“So how’d it go?” Sam asked.

“How’d what go?”

“Didn’t you take the GED math section this morning? How was it?”

Dean jerked open the dresser drawer. “About what you’d expect.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. Dean had helped Sam study for every math final he’d ever taken up to advanced algebra. He really did know this stuff. Sam had hoped that once Dean had taken the first test he’d stop psyching himself out about it.

“The questions were too hard?”

“I don’t know.” Dean held his hands out to take the folded shirts from Sam. “I left partway through.”

“Why?”

“Because it was stupid. I ain’t giving everything I got at work to waste money on these flunky tests.”

“No, it’d make way more sense to use the seventy dollars to buy me more t-shirts.”

“Exactly,” Dean said as he slammed the drawer closed. “It’d be a way better use of the cash.”

Sam glared at his brother. “Dean, that doesn’t even make sense. You already paid for the test. Even if you thought it was stupid, why not at least try?”

“I did. I failed, again, and if I hear another word about it someone’s walking away bloody.” Dean went back to rubbing his back as he cricked his neck. “Man, I’d kill for some Magic Fingers right about now.”

“Take off your clothes and lie down.”

Dean blinked, staring blankly at him. “Huh?”

Sam flushed as his own words caught up with him. “Your shirt, Dean. Take off your shirt and get on the bed.”

Dean either caught on or was too tired to care. He slipped out of his overshirt and stripped off his t-shirt, dropping them in a heap beside the bed. His pants joined the pile a moment later.

Sam nearly choked. “What’re you doing?”

“Putting your magic fingers to work. Lower back hurts like a son of a bitch.”

Dean flopped face-down on the bed and shifted his boxers lower on his hips until they rested against the rising curve of his ass. He laid his head sideways on the pillow and closed his eyes, letting his arms rest limply at his side. He didn’t even crack an eye as Sam climbed onto the bed to straddle him.

Sam started at Dean’s rigid shoulders, taking this rare opportunity to pay them proper attention. They were the same shoulders he’d always remembered, but with the lamp shining down on Dean’s bare skin, he couldn’t ignore the raised scars that crisscrossed them.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Sam whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Uh…I’ve been having a lot of fun with Ralph.”

Dean lifted his head to glance over his shoulder, quirking a brow. “Way too much information there, Sammy.”

“Ms. Baker’s dog,” Sam clarified.

Dean dropped his head into the pillow. “We’re not getting a fucking dog.”

“Why don’t you like dogs?”

“Why don’t you like girls?”

Sam clenched his jaw, his hands freezing part way down Dean’s back.

A frustrated moan escaped Dean’s lips. “Oh, go ahead and be a whiny little bitch all you want. Just don’t stop.”

Dean had no idea how much Sam didn’t want to stop, but he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back to rest against Dean’s ass, which wasn’t one of his better ideas. He quickly shifted back onto his knees.

“I’ll keep going once you stop being a jerk about it.”

“Dude, I’ll sign away my soul if you just shut your mouth and move your fingers.” When Sam still didn’t continue, Dean surrendered. “Whatever. I just don’t get what you think we’d do with a dog once you finish school. You only got a couple months left.”

Sam started massaging again before the words caught up to him then he froze mid-stroke. “What do you mean? We’d do the same thing we’d do with it now.” Sam’s words grew uncertain. “Nothing’s going to change in June…right?” His chest tightened painfully when Dean didn’t respond. “Dean?”

“Forget it.” Sam tried to get off him, but Dean grabbed his arm to stop him. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“All that stuff you said back at the aquarium about the fish being trapped…”

“Was about fucking fish, dude.”

“Dean, I’m not an idiot. The only thing you’ve ever cared about fish is if the place serving them has tartar sauce.”

“Come on, that’s not true,” Dean said, still talking into the pillow. “If there weren’t fish, what would sharks eat aside from beautiful blond surfers?”

“Seriously. What did you think we were gonna do after I graduated?”

“Throw a party with a stripper and finally get you laid. Fuck, I don’t know, Sammy. I’m just tired.”

Sam sighed and returned to Dean’s back, trying to push the newly formed knots from the coiled muscles. The thought of leaving what they had here terrified him. The only thing that scared him more was pushing Dean away.

It wasn’t long before Dean relaxed beneath him. Even Sam let himself breathe as he focused on the soft moans Dean made as he wiggled between his legs.

“That better be a gun in your pocket,” Dean mumbled between moans.

Sam flushed when he realized he’d let himself rest against Dean again. “That’s my calculator.”

“Geek. No wonder you’re still a virgin.”

Dean grunted as Sam worked a deep knot from his back, hopefully distracting him as Sam climbed higher up on his knees so he couldn’t feel Dean shifting beneath him, even though his body ached to press lower.

***

A sharp strike to his side knocked the wind from Sam’s lungs. He startled awake, shooting upright to find himself staring into the murky darkness of their bedroom. A quick scan of the room assured him that all the shadows surrounding him had natural sources. There were no monsters. He only wished Dean could see that.

The bedsprings squealed as Dean lashed out beside him. Sam pulled his legs to his chest to avoid Dean’s kicking. It was bad enough that Dean was afraid. He didn’t want Dean also hurting his leg more than he had to.

Dean had always had nightmares and Sam had always been able to tell when they were haunting him, but Dean had never made enough noise that Dad couldn’t ignore it. Things had changed after Dad.

Dean couldn’t always figure out what was real, especially when he was sleeping. The doctors had explained the change with with technical words that had confused Dean and scared Sam. They’d used tranquilizers and restraints to try to help, but they’d only made it worse.

When Sam had visited Dean in the psychiatric ward, he’d been wearing a knee brace and Sam was pretty sure he should be wearing one now when he slept. Trying to convince Dean of that had been a lost battle from the start. Even the things that had worked at the hospital were off-limits for discussion, let alone doing.

Sam squinted at the offensively bright green of the alarm clock's numbers. It was 4:40 AM, too late to salvage a good night’s sleep and too early to give Dean the relative relief of waking.

All he wanted to do was shake Dean awake to prove that the monsters weren’t here, but he wasn’t so sure that they disappeared when Dean awoke. There was also the problem that if he woke Dean up every time he had a nightmare, Dean would never get any sleep. It never helped anyway.

When he woke him, Dean always grabbed a drink and sat up staring into the dark for hours. Dean said he didn’t want to keep Sam up, but didn’t get that the only time Sam was really bothered was when Dean wasn’t there.

If Sam did nothing, Dean would eventually work through it and fall into a deeper sleep. He leaned back against the headboard and resolved to wait Dean out.

His stomach twisted into knots the longer he watched his brother flip on the bed. Sam pulled the sheets aside to try to prevent Dean from becoming hopelessly tangled. When Dean’s limbs finally fell slack back onto the mattress, Sam leaned over to tuck him back in.

Sam stopped just before laying the sheets over him. Tension again tightened Dean’s body, but this time, he wasn’t lashing out, he was curling into himself.

“It’s okay,” Sam whispered.

It was one thing to watch Dean fight, but another thing altogether to hear the terrified whimper that escaped from his trembling lips. Nothing could have stopped Sam from reaching out to Dean then.

"Dean, it's just a bad dream."

Sam wished so badly that it were true, that what plagued Dean's dreams were only abstract nightmares, not the flashbacks Sam assumed they were. He had no concept of what Dean had seen or how long it had lasted. He wanted to think that it had been quick and that Dean hadn’t had to watch Dad suffer, but Dean had said things over the years — just broken pieces. It’d been enough. 

He was pretty sure that Dad and Dean had been held captive for the better part of the night, and not by some animalistic monster, but something sentient enough to crave suffering. All he really knew for sure was that there’d been nothing left, only blood and tissue everywhere as if what had been left of Dad rained down on Dean from the crimson ceiling.

“No,” Dean muttered. He sloppily threw his arm up over his head as if to protect himself. “No…stop. Please stop.”

"Okay, Dean, seriously. Come on man, wake up."

Sam knew better, but instinctively reached out to shake him. Dean’s bare skin was sweaty beneath his touch and his bicep coiled painfully tight. Sam didn’t see the fist coming, but he sure felt the screaming pain as it connected with his jaw.

His hand didn’t make it up to his face before he was knocked back off the bed. The air rushed from his lungs as he hit the floor, the impact stunning him. Dean was on top of him before he could recover.

In the darkness, Sam couldn't clearly see Dean’s face, but he could feel the shift the moment Dean awoke. The hands fumbling to hold Sam down went slack. Dean’s sure movements became jerky and uncertain as he looked around, seemingly unsure of where he was.

He skittered back so fast that he hit the dresser with a thud hard enough to rock the lamp on top of it. Sam's vision still swam, but focused enough to see Dean scanning the room for an invisible enemy.

Dean tucked himself in the corner, crouching where the bed and dresser met. His hand slipped beneath the dresser and came out clutching a knife. Dean defensively held out Dad’s old silver blade, pointing it in Sam’s general direction.

Sam sat up slowly, unclear whether Dean’s target was an imagined monster behind him or if Dean was looking at him. “Dean, it’s just me.”

Sam slowly stood, backing away and not risking moving towards the lamp. The light would bring Dean out of it, but Sam didn’t trust his brother right now. Dean was dangerous. That was why they’d taken him away.

They’d said Dean had attacked a nurse. When Sam had argued with the doctors, he’d never honestly disagreed with their point. Dean was far more dangerous than they could have ever imagined. He knew how to kill and had done it plenty of times before. When he was cornered, Dean lashed out. They should have known Dean was scared.

Sam wasn’t afraid of his brother, but he was afraid of what Dean would do if challenged. As Sam backed away, he gave Dean a similarly wide berth as he would have the lions at the zoo. His hand felt along the wall until his fingers brushed the switch for the overhead light.

The harsh light blinded them both. Sam squinted at his brother, who ducked down further and held his arm over his eyes. He still held the knife as if warding off an enemy, but his arms dropped back down as his confused gaze settled on Sam.

“You’re okay, Dean. You just had a bad dream.”

"It...I...Sammy?"

Sam’s chest tightened. Dean sounded so lost and far younger than Sam ever remembered him being. He stayed huddled beside the bed with his arm wrapped around his knee and Sam was afraid that he was waiting, waiting for Dad to sweep in and pull him into his arms. Dad had never been that person for Sam, but he knew he had been for Dean, if only in Dean’s mind.

It only lasted a few seconds before the fear was shoved back behind the mask. Dean glared at the knife still clutched white-knuckled in his hand. He shoved it back under the dresser as if that were where it belonged. Sam had long suspected that Dean's insistence on doing the vacuuming had a lot less to do with Dean liking vacuuming than with him not wanting Sam poking around under the furniture.

Dean staggered to his feet. His eyes shifted between Sam and his own hand. It was the first time Sam noticed the blood smeared over Dean’s knuckles and tasted the coppery tang in his own mouth.

"Did I...?” Dean’s voice trailed off as he turned towards the dresser. His head hung low as he braced himself against it, back to Sam. “Son of a bitch!"

Dean raised his knee and slammed it into the dresser’s drawer. He cried out, crumpling to the floor. Sam ran forward, too late to catch him, but still pulled his brother into his arms. Dean’s eyes squeezed shut and his breaths were ragged against Sam’s chest.

Sam rubbed his hand slowly over Dean’s back, trying to will the pain away. He wanted to pretend that Dean hadn't been conscious of what he was doing, that he’d been too asleep to remember that was his bad knee. He wanted to be able to go back and fix everything that had brought them here.

Instead of relaxing into his hold, Dean shoved him away. “Dude, get off me.”

“Dean, you can’t do crap like that.” Sam ignored Dean and tried to help him to stand. “You’re really gonna fuck it up.”

“I already really fucked it up.” Dean pushed again, harder. “Get the hell away from me.”

Sam swallowed down the hurt as he let go of Dean and stepped back to give him room to stand on his own. He stayed close enough to catch him if he couldn’t support himself, watching closely as Dean used the bed to pull himself to his feet.

Dean stood there, still searching for his bearings. In the struggle, the amulet had been tossed behind his back and his boxers were hitched low on his hips. His hair was rumpled with drying sweat that made him look far softer than the fierce predator he’d appeared to be only moments earlier.

It had been a long time since Sam had seen Dean’s skin in the light. The scars were fading. What he remembered as bloody gashes ripped into Dean’s flesh had become a maze of lines, healed but still broken.

Dean limped forward and cupped Sam’s face in his hands. He turned Sam’s head then patted down the rest of his body as if he were searching for broken bones.

“Will you just sit down?” Sam asked. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” He checked Sam’s face again. "We gotta get some ice on that."

Dean grabbed his jeans and stumbled into them, zipping them up, but not bothering with the button. He pulled a t-shirt on and pushed past Sam.

Sam didn’t even bother with pants and followed Dean in his boxers. When the coolness of the night hit him, he grabbed his hoodie off the doorknob and jerked it over his head as he hurried down the hallway after his brother.

Dean was too flustered to bother hiding the pain. He leaned heavily on his good leg, dragging the other behind him on his way to the kitchen.

Their bare feet padded across the cold vinyl floor. The stove light was on. It always was. Sam didn’t know whether Dean left it on because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself when he snuck into the kitchen to drink, or if he was bothered by the dark. In case it was the latter, Sam didn’t turn it off either.

By the time Sam leaned back against the counter, Dean was already in the freezer. The crunching of the ice cubes breaking free from their tray sounded ear-shatteringly loud in the still night. Dean threw a pile of ice into a used dishtowel and pressed it against Sam’s face.

Sam held the ice there not because he thought he needed it. His jaw did ache and he knew his lip was swelling, but they’d nailed each other plenty of times before without any fuss. He held the ice because Dean would already hate himself in the morning without having to look at the bruise on Sam’s face.

"Seriously, Dean, it's okay."

"Fucking far from it." Dean jammed the ice tray back into the freezer and slammed the door. "If I come at you like that again, you shoot me. You hear me, Sammy?”

The ice nearly slipped from Sam’s fingers as he met Dean’s eyes. He wouldn’t have even liked Dean making a joke like that. Seeing the sincerity laced with raw desperation in his eyes made Sam’s gut twist. They weren’t just words Dean was saying, but something he seriously thought Sam could do.

Sam didn’t understand why it was so hard for Dean to get that he would far prefer to die by Dean’s hands rather then be left here without him. Somehow, it scared Sam all the more to know that the reverse was true for Dean.

"That’s ridiculous,” Sam said. “I need you here.”

“That’s the last thing you need. A bullet would be doing us both a favor.”

Sam clutched Dean’s arm, holding it tightly until Dean met his eyes. “Don't talk like that. Don’t you ever talk like that, Dean.”

“Whatever.” Dean shook off his grip. “You need to get back to bed.”

Sam dropped what was left of the ice into sink. “Yeah, we do. Let’s go.”

“No, you go ahead.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I don’t need a damn babysitter, Sam. Go to bed.”

“I’ll go to sleep when you do.”

Dean grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d left off with earlier in the evening and limped towards the living room. “I am going to sleep. Alone.”

“You’re not sleeping on that couch and you need to put ice on your knee, too.”

“I’m not wasting ice on that and I’ll sleep wherever I damn well please.”

Sam jogged ahead and threw himself onto the couch. He stretched his legs out over it so there was nowhere for Dean to sit and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked.

Sam rested his head on one armrest and propped his feet up on the other. “Sleeping.”

“Dude, get off my couch.”

“No.” Sam hunkered down to foil Dean’s half-hearted attempt to throw him off. “You’re just gonna have to find somewhere else to sleep.”

Dean walked over to recliner and stiffly lowered himself into it. He sat back, using the lever to pull up the footrest. “It’s a lumpy damn couch anyway.”

He wasn’t wrong. A broken spring was pushing up into Sam’s side and the cushions sagged so low he thought he might end up on the floor. That was exactly why he wasn’t letting Dean lay on it. The last time Dean had slept on the couch, he’d barely been able to walk to the kitchen the next morning. Unfortunately, the chair was only marginally better.

Sam sighed as he sat up. “If you sleep there, you’re not even going to be able to walk in the morning.”

“At least you will.”

“Dean, will you just drop it? I’m okay.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

The words scraped from Dean’s throat as he stared across the room, which was still dark aside from the light that spilled in from the porch. Sam followed Dean’s gaze to the silhouette of their reflections on the blank television screen. Dean still nursed the bottle of whiskey even though Sam was pretty sure it was empty.

“You’d never do that,” Sam said.

“You don’t know that. It’s inside me. It’s always been there.”

Sam sighed and leaned back against the couch. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving exhaustion to again overtake him. He was far too tired to have this discussion again.

“There’s nothing inside you, Dean.”

He knew that for a fact because Dean had already checked. He’d done every possible test on himself, more than once.

Sam had gone along with it the first time because Dean had made it sound important. The second time, he’d let it happen because he’d thought that Dean needed the reassurance. When Dean had felt the need to test himself a third time, Sam had intervened. He couldn’t watch Dean cut himself again when he knew it wouldn’t help.

Sometimes, he wondered if Dean wouldn’t have been better off spending time with someone who could have actually helped him. Other times, he was sure he could blame the doctors for the fact that Dean didn’t trust his own version of events and had put up so many safeguards that he couldn’t even let Sam in.

They’d been trying to help, but the doctors hadn’t known Dean any better than Sam’s foster family had known him. Sam’s temporary family had been good people, the kind of family he’d thought he’d wanted. They couldn’t have possibly understood why his time with them had felt like solitary confinement. Sam knew it had only been worse for Dean in the hospital where the physical confinement had been real.

"I'm not crazy."

“I know, Dean. You’re just tired. We both are.” Sam stood and pushed down the footrest of the recliner, forcing Dean back upright. “Come on, let’s get back to bed. It’ll be better in the morning. I promise.”

It was a lie they told each other often enough that it was comforting in and of itself. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t always true, it only mattered that they made it through the night.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as Dean took his hand and let him help him up. He put Dean’s arm around his shoulder and let his brother lean on him, guiding him back to the bedroom to wait for sunrise.

***

Sam barely escaped the gauntlet of car salesmen and he still didn’t know if he was even at the right place. He knew that Dean worked on cars, but this multi-story glass-fronted Mercedes dealership was the last place he’d have imagined.

When he slipped inside, he was hit with a wave of new car smell. Shiny luxury vehicles spun slowly on turntables. They were the type of generic cars that Dean would gripe endlessly about, making it all the more unlikely that Dean actually worked here. 

He hadn’t realized that he didn’t know where Dean worked until school had gotten out early. When he’d called Dean’s emergency number, he’d gotten some gruff-sounding guy in a noisy garage who’d given him this address. 

There was no noise here. The large building was basically empty, which explained the vultures outside. He glanced around and headed for the receptionist. The sign above the well-polished desk said that he’d entered the sales department. 

According to her desk plate, the lady who sat there was Lesley. She was old enough to be one of Sam’s teachers, but not so old as to put her out of Dean’s league. She had a sweet smile and Sam was sure if Dean had ever come this way then he’d likely made more than a few passes at her. 

"Good afternoon,” Lesley said. “How can I help you?"

“Actually, I’m just looking for my brother, Dean. I think he works here.” 

Sam left off the last name because he wasn’t entirely sure what name Dean was going by. He’d been surprised when Dean had enrolled him in school under his full real name, but had heard Dean answer the phone under other names. 

“Would that be Dean from the service department?” 

Sam could tell by the smile on her face that she was thinking of the right Dean. “Yeah, that's him. Do you know if he’s here?”

“Actually, yes, he’s currently meeting with the general manager. You're welcome to wait for him in our waiting area. It’s just down the hall on the left. Feel free to help yourself to some coffee and just let me know if you need anything else.”

“Uh, great, thanks.”

Sam adjusted his backpack and headed down the hall. It felt like he’d just walked into an alternate universe. This place was polished and sterile and everything that Dean wasn’t. 

The waiting area was nicer than any arcade he and Dean had ever been to and was stocked with several retro game machines. As Sam watched Pac-Man race around the screen of the closest one, he wondered how often Dean played it. 

There was a fully stocked vending machine where Dean probably got his lunch and a coffee machine on the counter beside it. A corner-mounted television played a drag race on the SPEED channel and the coffee table in front of the leather couch was covered with car magazines. Maybe it wasn’t so weird that Dean worked here after all. 

Sam sat down on the couch, sinking into the soft cushions without feeling a single spring stabbing him. He watched the race while he listened to Lesley talk on the phone until he heard the water cooler gurgle one too many times. 

He grabbed his pack and headed down the hall in search of a bathroom. He found one tucked away at the end of the hall, but hesitated before pushing open the door when he heard voices. 

Sam looked over his shoulder at the office that had the blinds to the narrow hallway window pulled. The plate on the door said the office belonged to General Manager Stuart Porter. 

Usually eavesdropping wasn’t Sam’s thing, but sometimes it was the only way to figure out what Dean wouldn’t tell him. He glanced down the hall before peeking into the gap between the blinds and the window frame. 

Dean sat in the office wearing grungy coveralls that didn’t quite fit. His grease stained hands played over the brass studs decorating the armrests of the high-backed red leather office chair. He used his good leg to swivel the chair from side to side while the man in the black suit talked on the phone. 

Dean looked more antsy than bored and a smirk slipped over his lips as the man, who Sam assumed was Porter, hung up and turned his full attention to Dean. They both leaned forward over the desk close enough that they could have whispered in each other’s ears. 

He’d seen Dean use this ploy before to lure someone close right before taking a crippling swing. Sam went on alert, ready to jump in to back Dean up if needed. 

Dean grasped Porter’s tie, using it to reel him in even closer. Sam didn’t have to break the window, but he did have to use its frame to steady himself when Dean nuzzled into Porter’s hand right before their lips met in a hungry kiss. 

They were both on their feet together in front of the desk before Sam’s mind caught up with his eyes. Porter’s suit jacket lay discarded on the chair and Dean’s coveralls were unzipped. 

Dean perched on the desk when the manager backed him into it. He shook his head as Porter’s hand slipped beneath the faded blue cotton to work his jeans. 

They leaned their heads together. With a whisper, Dean relaxed against Porter, nodding his head. Dean straightened up and put his hands behind his back. 

Sam’s mind was already devoid of thought before Porter slipped the loosened tie from his neck and leaned around Dean to grasp his wrists. He knotted the tie, binding Dean’s hands then eased him down to lay across the desk pad calendar.

Dean’s eyes were closed and his legs splayed open where they hung over the desk. He lay waiting, obedient and trusting in a way that Sam never could have imagined. Dean’s chest rose and fell in short bursts that matched Sam’s own quick gasps. 

Porter finished working Dean’s zipper to pull out his half-hard cock. He stroked it once before releasing Dean and stepping around to open the drawer of his desk. 

Dean lay there waiting as Porter globed a squirt of lotion into his hands, rubbing them together as he leaned down to kiss Dean where his head was tipped over the edge of the desk. 

He walked back around slowly, taking his time to look over Dean before grasping him again. Sam couldn’t clearly see the motions of his hands both because of where he stood and because the pressure in his own groin was too distracting. 

Sam could see the reddening of Dean’s cheeks, his tightly closed eyes and knitted brow. The movements sped up and Dean’s back arched up from the desk. Porter turned to the side, still cupping Dean’s balls in his hands, as Dean’s come splattered over the t-shirt he wore beneath the coveralls. 

Dean’s eyes were hazy as Porter pulled him upright. He tucked Dean back in, his hands lingering inside Dean’s boxers before zipping up his coveralls. 

Dean’s wrists twisted against the tie before he seemed to forget about it and slid off the desk. He was barely on his feet before he sunk to his knees, positioning himself in line with Porter’s bulging slacks. 

It was nearly enough to make Sam’s own knees give out even before Porter unzipped his pants and guided the tip of his cock to Dean’s mouth. Dean didn’t hesitate to seal his lips around the already hardened shaft. 

Sam wasn’t sure that he’d ever wanted anything as badly as he wanted to be the one in that office as Porter’s hands dug into Dean’s hair. He tugged Dean so close that his lips brushed Porter’s balls. Porter pulled back right before he came, spilling down Dean’s throat. 

He held Dean there with his cock buried in Dean’s mouth while he stroked Dean’s tangled hair. Dean had only ever let Sam run his hand over his hair when he’d been too delirious to realize that Sam was doing it. 

When Porter did let Dean go, he zipped himself back up then helped Dean to stand. Dean tried to hide his grimace. Porter either didn’t notice or chose not to see it. He grabbed Dean’s arm, turning him around and bending him forward over the desk. 

Sam had no concept as to how this man was still alive as he leaned over to pin Dean there. He stroked the inside of Dean’s thigh through the coveralls as he spoke in his ear. 

Sam could almost hear the ‘yes, sir’s leaving Dean’s mouth as he nodded obediently beneath the older man. That sort of thing had always pissed Sam off when it had come to Dad and, considering where Dean had learned it, should have been creepy now, but only tightened Sam’s jeans to the point of discomfort. 

Porter was smiling when he stood. He continued to run his hand between Dean’s legs before pulling it back to give a firm smack to his ass. Dean jerked slightly, but remained bent over the desk until his hands were untied. 

Part of Sam was still waiting for Dean to beat the man to a bloody pulp, but instead Dean took back the tie and looped it around Porter’s neck. They remained pressed against each other while Dean’s unsteady hands knotted the tie like Dean had for Sam the first time he’d worn one.

Dean tightened the tie and tucked it beneath Porter’s collar then leaned in exactly like Sam had always dreamed to kiss him before pulling away when the phone rang. Dean walked around to drop back into the chair and returned to the exact same position he’d been in when Sam had had first seen him. 

Sam fully expected to open his eyes and find himself sitting in the middle of history class with an embarrassing hard on. But the next moment came and he was still standing in the hallway and Dean still looked antsy twisting in the executive chair. 

Sam made a beeline for the bathroom, barely finding the coordination to lock the door behind him. He splashed cold water over his hot cheeks and tried to think of his biology teacher or anything else that might drain the blood from his swollen cock. 

The door handle jiggled. Sam couldn’t find the words to respond until he heard someone ask for a key. He gave some stuttered answer about being out in a minute before the familiarity of the voice sunk in. Dean was standing on the other side of the door. 

If the bathroom had a window, Sam would have been out it. His gut clenched as he dried his face and then grabbed his bag. 

He stared at himself in the mirror. Nothing tangible looked off, but everything was. He just knew that Dean would look at him and instantly know, but neither the plan to disappear down the drain nor wait for Dean and every one else in the building to go home was likely to work so he gripped the strap of his pack tight and prepared to face the music. 

When he opened the door no one was there. He glanced down the hall to see Dean standing by the water cooler. Dean looked at his reflection in one of the accessory display windows, frowning as he fixed his hair. 

He swished water in his mouth before spitting it back into a paper cone cup. As Sam approached, Dean quickly tossed the cup into the trash with a splatter. His cheeks were still flushed when he turned around. 

He raised his hand as if to give a wave, but did a double take when he actually saw Sam. “Dude, what the hell are you doing here?” Dean gripped Sam’s arm hard, sounding close to panic before he caught himself. “How’d you even find this place?”

“It was a half day so I called, but you weren’t there.”

“Fuck. Sorry about that, Sammy. I should’ve checked the schedule.” Dean released his arm and patted Sam’s back. “I just gotta tell the guys I need to head out early and we can go.”

“I got homework if you need to stick around.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m ready to get the hell out of here anyway.”

Dean led him back out to the sales floor and shot Lesley an award winning smile on the way out. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

She waved him off with a blush. “You know I’ll be here waiting.”

Sam wondered just how many of the people here Dean was doing. He hadn’t noticed that Dean had opened the door for him and stumbled when Dean pushed him out of it. Dean caught him and steered him towards the back lot.

“How’d your talk with the manager go?” Sam asked.

Dean stiffened beside him, but kept walking. “What talk?”

“Lesley said you had a meeting.”

“Oh, yeah. That. Fine. He just asked if I could work the next couple of weekends.”

“What’d you tell him?” Sam asked.

“What do you think?” 

“I hope you told him to shove it. Dean, you’re working too much already.”

“Dude, Porter’s like my boss’s boss’s boss. This place has more fucking managers than a bone yard has corpses and he’s running of the whole damn thing. I think his family owns half the dealerships in King County.” 

It wasn’t until the fresh air hit him that Sam’s brain started functioning again and he really looked at Dean in the sunlight. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked paler than normal. The name ‘Walsh’ was embroidered under the star logo on his coveralls. Either they’d given Dean someone else’s uniform or it was the name he was going by here. 

The service department Dean led him to was much closer to where Sam would have expected Dean to be working. It was a large, dark garage with the deafening sounds of power tools echoing off the concrete walls. The air was laced with a nauseating cocktail of exhaust fumes and paint. 

Cars drove around them, on and off lifts, and Dean walked over the parts and wires that littered the floor without even really looking at them. He headed over to a desk piled with papers, dirty rags and broken pieces of metal.

There was an old swimsuit calendar pinned on the wall and a grizzly man with a grey beard sat on a rusted stool. He reminded Sam of an older version of Bobby and wondered if Dean had ever seen that. 

The man grumbled as he pounded the grungy keys of a computer that looked older than Sam. He hopped off to rip a sheet from a dot-matrix printer before spinning around to look at Dean. 

“You taking in strays now, Walsh?”

“Something like that. School kicked my kid brother out early. Okay if I head out?”

“Sure thing, kid. See you tomorrow.”

Dean gave him a wave and disappeared into an office just long enough to climb out of his coveralls. The drying stain on Dean’s t-shirt was the only sign that Sam hadn’t lost his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean's grip on the wooden spoon tightened. He gave the steaming tomato sauce an agitated stir. His focus remained stubbornly on the stove even as Sam’s glare drilled into his back. 

"But Dean—"

"Can we just not?" 

Dean’s voice was weary and his shoulders slumped. The clear signs of defeat took the wind from Sam’s sails. He sighed and sunk back in the creaky kitchen chair. 

Sam’s attempt to relax failed when Dean poured his second glass of whiskey since starting dinner. It was just one more way that Dean was refusing to take care of himself. Sam already didn’t like him working nights. He didn’t need to also worry about whether or not Dean was sober enough to get to work alive. If he was even going to work. 

The plates clanked as Dean grabbed them from the cupboard. Sam didn’t protest when Dean closed his textbook and pushed it aside. While his notes were spread over the table as if he were studying, Sam didn’t know where his pen had ended up or what stage of mitosis he’d left off on. 

It was also hard to argue when the advanced bio book was replaced with a plate loaded with spaghetti drowned in fresh sauce and topped with homemade meatballs. His stomach rumbled as his next inhale carried the rich scent of oregano mingling with garlic. 

He’d nearly forgotten what he was upset about until Dean moved the extra sauce over to the side burner to cool. Dean had made twice as much as he usually did, which meant he was planning on missing at least the next few dinners. 

"I just don't get why you have to work this weekend," Sam said. 

"You know why.” Dean switched off the stove burner with a twist hard enough that Sam was surprised the knob didn’t snap off. “Dude, come on, it’s not like I’m gonna miss the big game."

Sam wanted to say that he didn’t care about the division championships, but he did want Dean there. He also wanted him here, not overworking himself until he could barely stand or screwing around with someone he wouldn’t even talk about.

Sam knew he should be happy for his brother. It was a huge step for Dean to let someone else see the scars he had so carefully hidden away. It shouldn’t matter that that someone was a man or that Dean still hadn’t told him about it, but it did. 

“You’re already working all day and night,” Sam said. "Can't someone else count car parts?" 

"No, but someone else can eat your dinner."

Dean settled down into the chair beside Sam’s and stabbed his fork into one of Sam’s meatballs. He made a show of chewing it in his face. 

Sam shoved him away. "Gross, Dean. How do you expect me to eat now?"

Dean smirked and returned to his own plate. At some point during his distraction, he’d set the whiskey bottle by the table leg. Dean knew Sam would gripe about it being right in front of him, but seemed stuck in the delusion that it was invisible on the floor. 

Dean twirled the spaghetti around his fork before abandoning it to take another swig from his glass. He rubbed his hand over his creased brow. When he glanced up, Sam stopped mid-bite as he saw the weariness in Dean’s eyes. 

"Look, Sammy, I’d give anything not go. You know I hate leaving you here alone, but the bills ain’t paying themselves. This is just something I gotta do, okay? It’s no big deal."

“Dean, you don’t have to do anything and I could come help. They obviously don’t care who counts the damn parts. You don’t even work in the parts department and they’re making you do it.”

“You’re not going.”

"Why not?" 

"Because you still haven’t finished that stupid senior project. You can come hang out tomorrow if you want, but you'll just whine about it being dirty and noisy. Besides, you can't stay late so I’d have to stop to drive you home then go back."

"You can’t stand all day anyway. And I'm eighteen. I can stay late, too."

"I don’t care how old you are. I’m still the older brother and I'm working my ass off so you can finish school this year and not end up like me. Dude, you'll have the house to yourself. You wanna be normal? Call that Maggie chick from the field trip over for a study session or throw a fucking kegger. I don’t care. Just do your homework first."

Sam focused on rearranging the meatballs on his plate. He was pretty sure Dean had no clue what normal actually was. It was something Sam had thought he could be if he just tried hard enough, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe he was too far gone, or maybe they really were cursed. 

"I don't want to be normal," Sam said. 

"I guess that's okay about your face then."

"Shut up, I’m serious. I don’t think I am. Normal, I mean."

“Is this a puberty thing?” Dean asked through a mouthful of spaghetti. “‘Cause don’t worry, Sammy, everyone’s got hair down there. Or is it just that time of the month?” 

Sam slapped his shoulder. “You’re such a jerk.” 

“Well, how am I supposed to know what you’re talking about? You’re more cryptic than that Deepak dude that was on Oprah last week.”

Given that Sam didn’t even know what he was trying to say, he could hardly blame Dean for not getting it. It was one thing to say that he didn’t care about Maggie or didn’t like the idea of some guy fucking his brother. It was another thing entirely to say he wanted to be that guy. 

“Dean, I don’t know what I am.”

Dean shrugged. “You’re my brother.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether that was exactly the assurance he needed or the last thing in the world he wanted to hear.

***

Sam knew he needed to sleep and the more he thought about it, the more anxious he became. This wasn’t his first night sleeping alone, but lying here without Dean never got easier. 

As soon as the lights went out, and there was nothing left to do but lie still, the memories crept in from the dark crevices he could no longer ignore. Without being able to reach out and feel his brother next to him, those memories tore at that old wound they’d left inside him when they’d ripped Dean away. 

Sam could count on his hands the number of times he and Dean had slept apart since Dean had signed himself out of the hospital on his eighteenth birthday. That person who’d been leaning against the Impala waiting for him after school that day had looked like Dean. 

They’d made it a thousand miles before even stopping to breathe. A thousand miles before Sam had realized how much of his brother had been left behind. 

He rolled over on the bed to try to shake the phantoms of that hollow feeling. Dean was coming back tonight. He wasn’t being tortured by some monster or forced to relive that past strapped to a bed alone. The only thing Dean could possibly be dying of right now was boredom. 

Sam was skirting the shallow edges of sleep when he heard the creak of the Impala’s door. Dean came up the front steps slowly. Sam didn’t need to see him to know that Dean was limping down the front hall. 

He heard the quiet shuffle of Dean sorting through grocery bags and had to strain his ears to hear the soft tap of cupboards being open and shut. He lost track of Dean a couple of times as his brother crept from the kitchen to the living room and back down the hall. 

Whenever he came home late, Dean always snuck around as if the rumble of the Impala wasn’t loud enough to wake the entire block. Sam knew no one else actually heard it like he did. For him there was no sound that mattered more than the one that told him Dean had made it back more or less in one piece. 

Sam shifted so that he could see the bathroom door from where he lay while still pretending to sleep. Through squinted eyes, he saw the exhaustion in every movement of Dean’s body as his brother dragged himself into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

The bathroom light turned on a moment later. Sam propped himself up slightly to follow the glimpses of Dean’s shadow beneath the door. Dean never closed the door, except to take a shower, and he usually only did that in the mornings after his walk. 

Dean’s shadow disappeared and Sam heard the gush of water flowing from the tub’s faucet a moment later. The transition to the pelting spray of a shower never came. The water just kept filling the tub. 

A couple of years ago, he’d read some pain management articles and had tried to convince Dean to give baths a try. Dean had blown him off saying that he wasn’t surprised Sam would be into girly bath salts. 

There was a quiet splash as Dean eased himself into the water. Knowing that Dean was relatively safe and taking care of himself for once let some of the tension seep from Sam’s body, making room for other questions to swell up in its place. 

He wondered what else Dean might be doing in there, or what he might have done before coming home, even though Sam had no right to be jealous of Porter or Lesley or that God-awful porn Dean had used to jack off to. He wanted Dean to be happy, but it was just weird. 

Porter wasn’t bad looking for an old guy, but Dean could have anyone he wanted. Sam didn’t want to think about why he’d picked a man old enough to be Dad. 

That didn’t make it any easier to shake the visual of the fancy office or designer suits or the thought of being the one that Dean backed against the desk. Sam’s hand rubbed over his heating groin, imagining Dean pressing close. His hand pushed into his boxers.

It already felt hot beneath the restriction of the sheets. He shot a glance towards the bathroom door before closing his eyes and shoving down his boxers. The sheets scraped over his tender shaft and blocked out everything beyond needing his hand to move faster. 

He bent his knees to tent the blankets, wetting his fingers with pre-come as he replayed the memory of Dean lowering himself to his knees. In his mind, Dean’s lips were pressing close to his balls when the sound of water being sucked down the tub’s drain jolted him back to the room. 

His body buckled. The sheets were wet and his hands sticky by the time he heard Dean’s bare feet on the tiles. He fumbled for the elastic of his boxers and barely wrapped his fingers around them before the bathroom light clicked off and the door swung open. 

Sam froze as still as if he’d been caught in the line of a black dog’s stare. He dropped his hands back to the mattress and laid his head to the side, forcing his breath even despite the racing of his heart. 

Dean was still towel-drying his hair as he shuffled into the bedroom wearing only his amulet. His soft cock swayed as he crossed the room to stand at the window. The light seeping in from outside glistened cool over the strong angles of his body and still Sam told himself he was only watching to make sure that Dean was alright. 

Dean tossed the towel aside and stepped into a pair of boxers that he’d pulled from his bag. Sam was still waiting for Dean to give up on the notion that dressers were only for hiding weapons. 

On his way to the bed, Dean stopped to check the drawer beside his pillow. Some time over the last couple of days, Dean had moved the knife from beneath the dresser into the drawer. He seemed to think that if he were awake enough to pull open a drawer, then the threat must be real. Sam didn’t buy that theory, but he wanted Dean to feel safe and, despite what Dean thought, Sam knew his brother would never actually hurt him. 

At that moment, it wasn’t protection or reassurance that Sam needed. He just needed Dean to step out of the room long enough for Sam to pull up his boxers without being noticed. Instead, Dean pulled back the covers and collapsed onto the mattress beside him. 

Sam’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as he lay paralyzed beside Dean. Several minutes stretched into an eternity before he heard Dean’s breathing shift to sleep. 

It was that reassuring sound that promised that Dean was alive and they were still together. On any other night it would have been the sound that finally let Sam find sleep. 

Tonight, he remained staring up at the ceiling with come drying on his hands and his boxers still down around his slick thighs. A suffocating cocktail of guilt and fear and disappointment that there hadn’t been more kept the night in sharp focus around him, even as the endorphins washed away. 

He wanted to talk about it, but he was afraid he was wrong. Sam couldn’t claim that he knew what Dean wanted anymore, but he knew what he wanted and as long as Dean was safe beside him, they could work out the rest.

***

The voice in the back of his mind told Sam that somehow Dean knew. Even though it was impossible, he couldn’t help but wonder if Dean had seen him as he’d walked out of the bathroom last night. He didn’t know why else Dean wouldn’t be here. 

Dean had become meticulous about schedules. He kept to his self-imposed morning routine like a drill sergeant. Like Dad. 

Dean woke Sam up at 6:45 every morning and was never more than a couple minutes late. If he didn’t get around to waking Sam until 6:48 AM then he felt the need to explain why he hadn’t been able to wake him on time. 

It was nearly 7:15 AM and Dean still wasn’t back. The Impala was still in the garage, but the house was empty. He’d searched it twice already. 

Sam didn’t know the specifics of where Dean went in the mornings. Ms. Baker sometimes mentioned seeing him at the park so Sam at least knew that Dean was legitimately going for walks. What he didn’t know was why Dean clung to five-year old advice from a doctor who’d obviously misdiagnosed him. At the time, they’d considered Dean’s leg the least of his problems. They’d told Dean it would get better as he regained his strength. It had only ever gotten worse. 

Sam tried to relax by getting his books together while the coffee started. He pulled the egg carton out of the fridge and the fry pan from the cupboard. If he did the things Dean usually did, then maybe Dean wouldn’t freak out as much when he did get back. 

Sam made it as far as setting the eggs out on the counter and slotting the bread into the toaster before a crass ringing sounded from the hallway. It took him a moment to realize it was the doorbell. He’d never heard it before. 

He jogged down the hallway and unlocked the door. He heard Dean’s voice in his head, telling him he shouldn’t open it without a weapon, but unlike Dean, he knew they were in suburbia, no longer on the frontlines of a war. 

Ms. Baker stood on the porch wearing her running sweats. Her grey hair was pulled back in a bun and she was breathless. The concern in her eyes was enough to catch Sam’s breath in his chest. He knew immediately what was wrong. 

“Where’s Dean?” 

“Your brother says he’s fine, sweetie,” Ms. Baker assured him, though her voice sounded unsure. “But I saw his leg give out down at the park. It looked to me as if that darn knee might have buckled again. I offered to get him some help, but he kept on pushing that stoic man pain business like I didn’t raise three boys of my own.” 

“I’ll get him.” Sam threw open the closest and grabbed his jacket. His eyes were earnest when he met hers. “Thank you.”

“No trouble at all. Do you boys need a ride?”

“No, thanks, I got it. I know you need to get to your class.”

“Alright then, but if you boys need anything, you just call the school, and I’ll also get you a note to excuse the absence. You just worry about taking care of that brother of yours.”

Sam thanked her again before rushing to grab the keys to the Impala. Dean could kill him later. Right now, Sam just needed to get to his brother. Even though the park was close, if Dean’s knee had slipped then just walking across the room would be too far. 

Several minutes later, Sam parked in the lot across the street from the library and sprinted out across the grass. The park had a paved circular track that meandered around the trees. It was flat enough to be wheelchair friendly and was so perfect for Dean that Sam was surprised that Dean had come up with it on his own. 

Sam walked quickly around the path, checking the benches and picnic tables. They were all empty. 

He was on his second pass and ready to start interrogating other walkers when he saw someone sitting beneath one of the thicker groupings of trees. The park was a place where the homeless tended to come to rest and it was still early. Sam kept his distance to avoid startling the man from his sleep if he were a stranger, but surged forward when he got a clear view of his face.

His brother sat on the ground, leaning back against the thick trunk of a pine tree. Dean’s bangs were plastered to his forehead and his skin was pale. He sat stiffly, gripping his leg. 

It wasn’t until Sam crouched down in front of him that he saw the drag marks in the leaf litter that led to where Dean was hunkered down in the brush. Sam clenched his jaw. Anyone else would have called for help, but Dean had tucked himself away, hiding out of sight in the far corner of the park away from the other walkers. 

“Sammy? What the hell are you...? Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed after a glance at his watch. “We gotta go.”

Dean immediately tried to push himself up, but didn’t get his feet beneath him before Sam stopped him. “Hey, it’s okay, Dean. Just relax. What happened?” 

“I tripped.” 

“Walking?”

It wasn’t that Dean couldn’t trip walking. Sam had to periodically catch him when Dean turned too quickly or his foot just hit the ground wrong, but Dean’s shirt was damp with sweat beyond what pain could bring in the chilly morning. His pant legs were plastered with mud that had dried light grey over his boots. It looked like river silt. 

Sam had used to take Dean down to the river before Dean’s mentality had improved and his leg had gotten worse. They would go on the weekends and just sit on the rocks for hours. Dean would spend the time silently staring off into the glacial fed rapids. He always seemed calmer afterwards. 

“Yeah,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “It’s fine. Just give me a minute.”

Dean’s breaths were clipped and he squeezed his eyes closed. He was partially curled into himself, nursing his knee. His hand blindly felt to the side and he took a hit from his already open flask before setting it back down in his bag.

Sam shook his head, ignoring Dean’s growl as he snatched the flask. “Come on,” Sam said as he put his arm around Dean. “We’re getting you to the hospital.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dean spat.

He tried to push Sam away, but there was no strength behind it. Sam only stopped when his hand wrapped around Dean’s lower back. There was a bulge in the waistband of Dean’s jeans. 

“Are you carrying a gun?” Sam whispered.

Dean looked at him like he was stupid. “Of course I am.”

Dean had carried a handgun at least since he was fourteen. With Dad always away and Dean left as the only line of defense, it had always made Sam feel better. But that had been their old life. They’d never talked about it, but Sam had just assumed that Dean had stopped carrying a weapon. There was no reason for it here where shadows were just shadows. 

He wasn’t naive. He knew that bad things could happen anywhere, but either of them could take a human and people were able to deny the existence of the things they had hunted because those things were insanely rare. Maybe to Dean it had seemed as if the monsters were everywhere, but Dad had to endlessly drag them across the country to find hunts. If supernatural things were so common, they wouldn’t have had to move around so much. 

Sam reached down to grab the bag before he even thought about why Dean would need to carry a bag. He managed to get it open before Dean could pull it away. Part of him already knew what he’d find inside, but it didn’t hit him any less hard when he actually saw the throwing knives and sawed-off. 

“You’re hunting.”

“No.” Dean took in a shaky breath and turned his head away. “Training.”

“You’ve been going down to the river to train? Why would you do that?”

“’Cause there’s nowhere to shoot a gun around here.”

It wasn’t unusual to hear shooting over at the Indian reservation that pocketed the area. Sam had long ago gotten used to the shotgun blasts, which had never been that strange to him. Growing up, he’d often woken up to the sounds of Dad and Dean shooting outside their cabin. He’d still never stopped to wonder if one of the early morning shooters here was his brother. 

“You said you’d stop.”

“No,” Dean huffed. “You said you were stopping and I said fine.”

“I meant both of us.”

Dean turned back to meet his eyes. “Look, Sammy, you can do whatever you want. Hell, I don’t even want you anywhere near this, but it’s something I gotta do.” 

“Near what? Dean, what’s going on?”

“Help me up. You’re gonna be late for school.”

Dean reached out to him and it took everything Sam had not to just pull Dean into his arms. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Damn it! Nothing. You know what’s out there.”

“That’s right, Dean. It’s out there and we’re here. I know—”

“No you don’t!” Dean dropped his head to his chest and focused on the decaying leaves beneath him. “You don’t know. You don’t remember. It came into our house. That thing came into your nursery and we didn’t do anything. We didn’t ask for it, and when Dad...” Dean bit his lip. “It’s not ‘out there’, Sammy. It’s everywhere.”

It was the same thing Dad had said, but different. In retrospect, Sam knew Dad had been afraid. At the time he hadn’t seen it because Dad had been distant and angry. Dean wasn’t lecturing. He was scared, too scared to even bother hiding it, and that terrified Sam.

“Dean, you’re not…”

“I’m not what, Sam? ‘Stable’? ‘Safe’?”

They were words the doctors had used when they’d committed Dean. They’d said he was too unstable to be safe around others and that he was a danger to himself. Maybe that was true, but it didn’t matter. Sam was here to keep him safe. 

“Thinking clearly,” Sam corrected. “Dean, you’re hurting yourself. You need to see a doctor.”

Dean’s eyes darted up to meet Sam’s. There was a flash of fear before Dean locked it away. “I’m not going back.”

Sam wasn’t sure which changes in his brother had come from losing Dad and which had come from the hospitalization. He could blame the hospital for the fact that Dean wouldn’t touch doctor prescribed painkillers and why he refused to eat with plastic spoons, but all he really knew was that nothing scared Dean more than the thought of being committed again. 

“You know I’m never going to let that happen, Dean, but you do need see a medical doctor.”

“No.”

“But, Dean—”

“Please just help me up, Sammy”

Dean’s tone was laced with desperation and Sam didn’t hesitate to let Dean use him as a brace. He wrapped his arm around his brother as soon as he was on his feet, letting Dean rest all his weight against him. 

“What did they do to you?” Sam asked.

He didn’t actually expect a response. Dean had never given him one before, but this time Dean squeezed his shoulder as Sam led him from the trees and back out into the open. 

“They kept me away from you.”

***

Dean’s words kept playing over in Sam’s head.

When they’d taken Dean away, Sam had imagined Dean as Jack Nicholson in _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ , giving hell to evil nurses and violent orderlies. What he’d seen the couple times he’d been allowed to visit had been so much worse. 

There’d been no evil to fight. There’d only been Dean strapped on a bed, alone and locked away in his own head. Sam hadn’t realized at the time that they’d been sharing the same hell. 

Dean had tried to get him to go to school this morning, as if there were any chance Sam would leave Dean alone to fend for himself when Dean was barely walking. He’d talked Dean out of it by swinging by the Blockbuster to rent a couple of Clint Eastwood movies. 

The afternoon sun shone through the window and reflected off the television screen so that all Sam could really see was the trees along the street. _Every Which Way But Loose_ played in the background. 

Dean didn’t need to see the screen to laugh hysterically when Clint Eastwood’s pet orangutan took out a biker gang. Dean could have acted out the entire movie without it even being on. The movies that Dean already knew tended to be the only ones they watched these days. 

More than once, random movies had triggered memories for Dean that left him staring into the abyss or jumping out of his skin. Dean seemed to prefer to stick to his old favorite movies, soap operas and porn.

It wasn’t long before Sam realized he was the only one still watching the movie. He glanced over to his brother, who was passed out in the recliner with his feet kicked up. His head flopped to the side and the beer was precariously balanced on his lap. 

The recliner made Dean’s back ache, but it didn’t seem to make his leg fall asleep or cramp like sitting anywhere else did so he’d always liked sleeping in it. For the first couple of years, Dean had gotten far more sleep sitting there bathed in sunlight than he did at night in bed. 

At first it had been weird seeing Dean lounge around in a chair since he never had before they moved here. It took some time for Sam to realize that he’d been thinking of it all wrong. It wasn't that Dean had never liked sitting in big comfy chairs. It was that Dean had never had a big comfy chair to sit in. 

The chair might be a piece of junk, but it was the first piece of furniture Dean had ever bought. It was something he actually owned and had picked out for himself, even if he’d only gotten it because even the thrift store had been tired of looking at it.

Sam paused the movie both so Dean wouldn’t miss it and so that he wouldn’t have to listen to the familiar bad dialogue while Dean slept. He switched over to the TV and whatever fuzzy picture the rabbit ear antennas could bring.

He wished they had cable, if only for Dean. The six channels they did get were all crap, but Dean said it was less depressing to have six channels with nothing on than to flip through four hundred channels and still find nothing to watch. That in and of itself was a load of crap. 

Sam knew Dean liked to flip through the channels regardless of what was on. Back when they’d stayed at motels, Dean had been able to watch the Discovery channel, which Sam could actually stand, and any game or movie he wanted. It just came down to the fact that Sam didn’t watch television and Dean refused to buy anything for himself. 

Sam left the cheating husband and his wife to fight on _Jerry Springer_ while he headed to the kitchen to make lunch. The smell of beef and vegetable soup was starting to waft through the house when Sam heard unsteady footsteps. 

He turned to see Dean leaning against the doorframe. His eyes were still soft with sleep even as confusion knitted his brow. Dean limped as he walked closer, too asleep to notice he was doing it. His gaze shifted between Sam and the pan on the stove then back to Sam. It was as if he understood the pieces, but couldn’t decipher the whole. 

Dean scratched his head. “What’re you doing?” 

“Making lunch.”

“Since when?”

“Uh...” Sam glanced at the microwave clock. “Ten minutes ago?”

“No, I mean...” Dean’s shoulder rested against Sam’s as he looked into the pan. “Since when do you make lunch?”

“Since you look deader than a zombie.”

Dean grunted. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You do it all the time.”

“’Cause it’s my job.”

Sam wasn’t sure when doing everything had become Dean’s job. Actually, he did know. It had been when Mom died. 

Sam should have stepped up to help out as soon as he’d been able. It wasn’t like Dean had been any less of a kid than Sam, but it had just never occurred to him. Not because he thought it was Dean’s job, but because Dean had always done everything like it was.

He wanted to tell Dean that he didn’t have to be Dad, but it wasn’t as if Dean had stepped up to take Dad’s place. Dean had always been the one. To Sam, Dad had been a near stranger in the periphery who showed up once a while to make Dean feel like crap and force them to uproot their lives yet again. 

Dean opened the dishwater to get out a couple of bowls and then started putting away the other clean dishes while he was at it. Sam shooed him away.

“Dean, I got this. Go sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting all damn day.”

“That’s the whole point,” Sam said as he divided the soup. “Grab a bowl and get out of here. And if you even think about washing that pan, Clyde’s going back to the video store.”

“Bossy little bitch.”

“You know you like it, jerk.”

“Damn straight.”

Sam was thankful that Dean turned away before the visual of Dean lying bound and waiting over a desk flushed his cheeks. He hadn’t managed to shake the thought before Dean brushed past him to traipse smugly over to the cupboard.

Dean snatched out a bag of pre-popped cheese popcorn before grabbing his bowl and heading out to the living room. He settled down beside Sam on the couch, sinking in to the cushion beside him. Sam set his bowl down over his lap.

Dean liked to watch television while he ate lunch, but he refused to eat in his chair. The plaid of the couch did hide the dirt better than Dean’s solid blue chair, but it just seemed like a moot point given that Dean’s chair had already been stained when he’d bought it. Not that Sam ever complained.

Sam pushed play to start the movie back up and leaned into his brother as Dean held the popcorn bag out to him. He smiled softly as Dean resumed his movie commentary in between spoonfuls of soup.

***

The beer nestled on Dean’s lap had long ago been emptied. Sam still moved it before waking his brother to avoid having the bottle broken over his head. 

He’d tried to verbally wake Dean, but Dean still snored softly in the recliner. While Sam was confident that he could avoid Dean if his brother did lash out, he was terrified of what Dean might do to himself if Sam did trigger him again. 

Sam plunked down on the couch beside the chair. His fingers picked at the frayed brown threads of the cushions as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Dean’s chest. Even in sleep, Dean didn’t look relaxed, but his face was softer in between dreams. His long lashes splayed over his freckled cheeks, fluttering almost imperceptibly with the movement of his eyes. 

Dean had come home late again. Not as late as he had been, but late enough that he hadn’t bothered with re-heating dinner for himself and had collapsed into his chair instead. He’d passed out after a bottle of beer and the opening credits of some stupid procedural cop show he’d sworn he was staying up to watch. 

Beneath stray strands of hair, Dean’s cheekbones were smeared with grease. His fingers curled to grip the armrest and were also darkened by the type of engine grime that didn’t wash off. It was obvious that Dean had been at work, fixing cars or counting car parts or whatever he did all day to make it so he could barely walk when he came home. Sam still couldn’t help but wonder how Dean had spent his lunch break. 

The thought stirred an interest in his groin to the point that Sam had to reposition on the couch and, once again, call forward the image of his biology teacher’s sagging nose and bad comb-over. While that wasn’t enough to disrupt the visual of Dean’s lips, Sam was instantly pulled back to the living room when a strangled sound escaped from those same lips. 

"Dean?" Sam tried again. "Hey, Dean, come on, let's get to bed."

Dean’s fists tightened and it took every ounce of restraint Sam had not to just grab Dean and pull him from the nightmare. He kept talking to Dean and only lightly brushing his arm until Dean’s eyes flickered open. 

Dean gritted his teeth and instantly reached for his beer. It wasn’t until Dean realized that the bottle wasn’t where he’d left it that his eyes focused on the room. His gaze darted around until he found Sam, at which point the tension drained from his body. He sighed and sagged back into the chair, rubbing his leg. 

Sam leaned forward to rest his hand next to Dean’s. Dean quirked his brow and opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it a moment later and relaxed into the cushions. He moved his hand back to the armrest and let Sam take over rubbing the weary muscles. 

Dean was still close enough to sleep that his guard was down. His features were soft and his tired eyes were open in a way that Sam rarely got to see. 

"Do I got something on my face?" Dean asked with a yawn. 

Sam blinked when he realized he was staring. "No. Well…yeah, but you’re fine."

Understatement of the year. Sam forced his attention back to Dean’s leg. He wasn’t sure if massaging it actually helped anything. Despite how much time Sam had spent at the library reading about leg pain, he still wasn’t sure what was wrong with Dean. There were just too many possibilities and too little for Sam to go on, given that he could only make second hand observations. 

All he knew for sure was that Dean rubbed his leg when it hurt. Doing it for him made Sam feel as if he could at least pretend he was doing something to help. He also couldn’t pretend that he didn’t yearn for physical closeness or that he didn’t crave the feeling of Dean relaxing beneath him. 

Sam continued until Dean’s eyes began to drift closed again. His hand then trailed down Dean’s leg before he stood and used his sneaker to push down the recliner’s footrest. The rusty joints squeaked as it lowered and clanked into place, moving Dean upright. 

Dean liked putting up the footrest even though it was next to impossible for him to lower. The chair might be nice to Dean, but in actuality it was a worn down piece of crap that belonged on a street corner. The rickety hand lever only really worked to raise the footrest and was useless when it came to putting it back down. 

Dean nodded a silent gratitude that he’d never spoken and never would because saying thank you would be admitting that it hurt. 

Sam wandered into the bathroom while Dean shut things down for the night. The television went silent and the lights were off by the time Dean shuffled in to squeeze between Sam and the towel rack on his way to the toilet. Sam tried to focus on brushing his teeth as Dean unzipped his jeans. 

This wasn’t new. They’d been sharing a bathroom since before Sam could walk. It shouldn’t feel any different now than it ever had, but it did. Sam’s jeans were already tight and Dean leaning in beside him to wash his hands without having bothered to zip back up wasn’t helping anything. 

Sam found himself staring at Dean in the mirror. Dean stood still with his shoulder tight against Sam’s as he stared back at his reflection. 

"Dude, seriously." Dean turned to look directly at him. "You wanna give me a hint?"

Sam had every intention of explaining it with words, but those lips were already so close and when Dean didn’t pull away, Sam leaned in. His lips brushed against Dean’s, tasting the lingering malt of cheap beer and everything that was the only person who had ever mattered. 

Sam didn’t know what he was doing in so many ways. He’d never kissed anyone before, not really. He prayed Dean would take the lead and show him what to do. When Dean didn’t take over, Sam slowly realized why this didn’t feel like he’d imagined. 

Dean hadn’t pulled away, but he wasn’t returning the kiss either. He was frozen stiff. 

Pinpricks of doubt stabbed Sam’s gut and he took a startled step back before looking down at his brother. Dean’s mouth was still parted. His eyes were closed and his brow was knitted. When he opened his eyes, he seemed fixated on the stained ceramic of the sink. 

"Dude, I can smell your minty fresh breath without you breathing it down my throat."

Dean's words were as casual as ever, but the tone was painfully tight. He scratched the back of his head and glanced up to search Sam’s face. Confusion slowly settled into his weary eyes.

“Did you...?” Dean used his hand to brace himself against the sink. “Did you just kiss me?”

“Uh, I...I don’t know. Maybe?”

Dean muttered something about needing to go for a walk or get a drink. Sam wasn't sure which, and doubted that Dean knew either. He only registered the panic as Dean pushed past him to get out of the bathroom. 

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam called after him. 

Dean was already at the front door throwing on his jacket by the time Sam made it down the darkened hallway. When Sam called out to him again, Dean looked over his shoulder while his hand remained resting on the doorknob. 

“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m not leaving.”

Dean said the words right before he walked out the door. As he listened to the clunk of the deadbolt being locked from the outside, Sam knew what he meant. 

Dean wasn't leaving him. He was only going to get some air or go throw up. Sam's churning stomach felt as if it might do the same.

***

It was too quiet to sleep. The air was still enough to hear the hum of the refrigerator down the hall. Sam heard the rumble of a passing car that threw long shadows over the room. In the distance, a dog barked and the silence was still suffocating. 

The television could be blaring on full volume, and it would still be too quiet without the sound of Dean’s breathing. He needed to hear the rustle of the sheets and squeak of the old bedsprings as Dean turned on the bed beside him. Those were the sounds that told him it was safe to sleep, that everything was okay. He didn’t know if things would ever be okay again. 

Dean was out there somewhere in the dark, just as alone as Sam felt. The Impala was still in the driveway, so whatever Dean was doing, he was screwing his leg up while he was at it. 

Sam’s own legs were weary from how many times he’d walked around the block looking for Dean. It was useless. Dean didn’t want to be found, at least not by Sam. 

Dean was no doubt out getting wasted because Sam apparently had that effect on family. Dad had done the same enough times after Sam had spoken his mind. 

Maybe Sam should have kept his mouth shut. Maybe then Dad would still be alive and Dean would be happy. Or maybe if he had spoken out more, Dad wouldn’t have dragged Dean on that last hunt. At least one of them would still be whole. 

Sam didn’t know what might have happened then, but he knew what had happened tonight. There was no question that this was all his fault. He was the freak that couldn’t stop thinking about his brother in ways that would probably make Dean sick. 

Sam’s hitching breath caught in his throat at the click of the front door’s deadbolt sliding aside. Uneven footsteps came down the hall, heading straight for the bedroom. Even while uncertainty continued to grip his chest, Sam released a sigh of relief. 

Dean jerked off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor where the flask in the pocket clunked hollowly. He collapsed onto the bed without undressing further, lying sprawled on top the covers like he’d always used to. 

When they’d been on the hunt, Dean had always been ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. Now he looked ready to run again. 

“Tell me tomorrow.”

The hoarse words fractured the gentler silence that had returned to the room. It took Sam a moment to process that Dean had spoken them.

“Tell you what?” Sam asked. 

He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. Dean was probably drunk and Sam was just thankful that the lights were off, praying that his voice was neutral enough to hide the moisture that still stung his eyes. He couldn’t lose his brother. 

“Tell me tomorrow that this is what you want or don’t say anything and it never happened."

Dean rolled onto his side, back to Sam. He then lay so still that he looked as if he were already asleep, leaving Sam to wonder if he had even spoken at all. 

The room around him sharpened as his heart pounded in his chest. He was terrified to get his hopes up. Not that Dean was okay with this, he couldn’t even hope for that, just that he hadn’t chased his brother off. He wanted so badly to believe it, but knew there was just no way he’d heard Dean right. 

“Dean…”

“Tomorrow, Sam.”

There was a finality to the words, and Sam didn’t really know what he would’ve said anyway. While Dean was soon softly snoring, Sam knew he wouldn’t be finding sleep anytime soon. Not unless he was already dreaming.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Dean was already awake. Even over the rush of water down the drain spout, his ears instinctively settled on the rhythm of Dean’s breath. His own breathing matched pace with Dean’s anxious inhales and exhales. 

The sheets rustled beside him. Dean was trying to shift positions without moving enough to be noticed. Sam always noticed, sometimes he just let Dean pretend that he didn’t. 

Sam’s gaze settled on the raindrops trailing down the window. He couldn’t risk looking at Dean, not without knowing if his brother was going to try to turn this all into one big joke. Maybe it was.

"You said we'd talk about it.”

Dean stopped moving beside him. He remained facing the door, back to Sam. The driving thud of heavy raindrops against the roof filled the silence that followed, but the longer that silence stretched, the tighter the knot in Sam’s throat grew. 

"Okay," Dean said. “You wanna talk, so talk.”

Several cars splashed through the potholes outside and Sam still hadn’t found the words. Dean’s voice was too blank to read and Sam didn’t know how big of an idiot he was about to make of himself. Even without that uncertainty, he couldn’t explain something that he didn’t understand. 

"I don't know what to say.”

"Then don't say anything.”

Sam sat up on the bed with a quick, jerking motion. His body was buzzing with too much nervous energy to remain still any longer. He kept hovering somewhere between wanting to strangle Dean and wanting to beg for his forgiveness. 

“Dean, look at me.”

He stared down at his brother, doing his best to ignore the tingle that ran through every nerve of his body as Dean did as he was told. Dean pushed himself up to lean back against the headboard. He looked up at Sam without raising his head, peering at him through rumpled bangs. 

“Am I crazy?” Sam asked. 

Dean’s jaw tensed and his attention seemed drawn to the shadows of the hallway. When he looked back, his expression was masked and his gaze had again drifted from Sam. 

“Dean…?”

“What?” Dean looked up as if he’d forgotten Sam was sitting there. “No, Sammy. I’m the one who’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, remember? You’re just a teenager with an overactive dick. It’s not your fault.”

“So you think this is just a phase? That’s crap, Dean, and you know it.”

Dean shivered beside him and crossed his arms over his chest. He was still dressed in his dirty clothes from last night. It wasn’t until now with Dean bathed in the cool grey light of early morning that Sam could see that his ragged jeans were splattered with dried mud. Sam was afraid to ask what Dean had done last night. 

"So you kissing me...? Fuck, Sammy.” Dean’s head fell back hard enough to thunk against the headboard. He barely flinched, just settled his gaze on the rain shadows playing on the wall. “That was a hell of a way to come out. I never thought I’d say this, but what happened to talking things through?”

Sam's cheeks flushed hot. At the same time, a tentative relief began to wash over him. Dean’s voice was tight, but he didn’t sound angry or disgusted. He sounded far more comfortable than he had at the idea of getting a dog. 

“I didn’t know what you’d think,” Sam said. 

“Man, I don’t care what you fuck as long as you use a damn condom. I’m just glad to hear you actually have a libido.”

“Knock it off, Dean. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Sam elbowed him, harder than he probably should have. Dean grunted and shoved him back. He barely touched him before grimacing as he leaned too far over on his leg, making Sam feel like more of a jerk than he already did. 

Sam tried to swallow the tension building back up in his chest. Dean hadn’t stormed out or said any of the hundred and one things Sam had feared, but he still wasn’t taking him seriously and Sam was afraid that once they left this room, he’d never be able to bring it up again.

“When I figured out you liked guys, too, I thought…” 

Dean’s head snapped up. “Dude, you’ve seen my porn. Hell, you’ve seen me. Why would you think I like guys, let alone...?” 

“You’re right, Dean. I did see you.”

The bedsprings shifted beneath him as Dean sat up straight. “Saw me what?” 

“I saw you with your boyfriend.”

“My what?”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s incredulous tone. “I saw you with that guy at work so I know, okay? You can drop the act.”

“You saw…? Shit.” Dean’s expression shifted from confused to borderline nauseous. “Sam, Porter and I aren’t—”

“Just stop, Dean. If you don’t want this it’s fine, I get it.” Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed. His toes dug into the fibers of the carpet as he stared down at it, blinking away the stinging in his eyes. “I know I’m a freak and it doesn’t matter how hard I try to be normal. I’m always gonna be a damn freak, but just tell me the truth. Just tell me you don’t want me, not that there’s something wrong with what I am. I already know that.”

“Hey, you know I want you here,” Dean said. “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here. There’s nothing wrong with you swinging for the other team. I just…I didn’t want you to know about me and Porter.”

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Dean’s chuckle was as dry as sandpaper. “Every time I’m with him, I think about what Dad would say and it’s just so fucked up.”

Sam’s fingers tightened on the edge of the bed. Dad had been dead for five years and Dean still thought he had to hide who he was to be the perfect picture of what Dad had wanted. Dean was right about one thing, it was seriously fucked up. They both were. 

“Look, Dean, I’m sorry. Just forget about it. This was stupid.”

Dean slid off the bed. His steps were uneven as he walked across the room to the window. He stood there, silhouetted as he stared out into the rain. 

“What do you see when you look at me?” Dean asked.

The softly spoken question startled Sam. His gaze drifted over Dean, taking in the way he leaned heavily against the windowsill, the weariness in his tired eyes and the strength of his broad shoulders. He was mostly turned away, but Sam could still see him biting his full lip. Sam dreamed about what those lips could do and still wanted nothing more than for them to tell him that it was okay. That he was okay. 

"My big brother," Sam said.

"But you want me to blow you."

It wasn’t a question. There was no sarcasm or condemnation or anything other than bluntly stated fact. Dean had turned towards him, but Sam still couldn’t decipher what he saw on Dean’s face. 

"I didn't say that."

The look in Dean’s eyes told him he didn’t have to. Sam cursed his own body as the mere suggestion sent blood rushing away from his head. 

Ever since he’d seen Dean drop to his knees, he hadn’t been able to get off to anything other than the thought of Dean’s mouth working over his dick. It wasn’t the first time he’d jerked off to the visual of his brother, but it was the first time he hadn’t had to imagine himself in the place of a girl. 

He’d watched Dean from the hallway before. Dad had been out of town and Sam had come home early to find Dean laying some girl he’d never seen before down on their bed. He should’ve walked away or pushed open the door, but he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off them. At first, he’d told himself that it was the girl he was watching, but it wasn’t like he’d never seen porn before. He’d grown up with Dean. 

He’d been fixated on how gentle Dean was with her. Dean had looked at this girl, who he’d probably never met before and would never see again, like she was the only person in the world. It was like Dean really saw her and who she was. He wanted Dean to see him like that. 

Sam broke away from the thought too late and had to shift his position to hide the hardening erection pushing at the thin cotton of his boxers. Maybe this wasn’t just a phase, but Dean was right about Sam's dick currently having a mind of its own. 

"But that’s what you want?" Dean asked. 

Sam wasn’t sure he had the nerves to say ‘yes’, but knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if he let this moment pass with a lie. He’d wanted this far longer than he’d been able to articulate. Now he knew he wanted it, but still couldn’t find the words.

He could already hear Dean’s speech about there being so many other fishes in the sea. Now that Dean knew he liked guys, he’d give up on the girl angle and try to hook up Sam with every random good looking guy they stumbled across. But none of them would be Dean. 

“I don’t want to look for someone else. I want it to be you.” 

There wasn’t anyone else. There never had been. Dean had always been there. From his very first memory, it had been Dean carrying him, Dean giving him baths and tucking him in. It had been Dean protecting him and putting food on the table and making the monsters go away. No one else understood him, no one else could. 

Dean looked as exposed as Sam felt. His dark green eyes were filled with uncertainty as he stood there rubbing the back of his neck. Sam couldn’t stand or move or breathe as Dean dropped his hand back to his side and stepped towards him. 

It was as if all the air was sucked from the room as Dean sank to his knees in front of him. The dream that had kept playing over in his head was now playing out right in front of him and it took everything he had to stop his brother. 

Sam’s hand rested on Dean’s shoulder. “Your leg…”

“Is fine.” A hint of a smirk turned up Dean’s lips. “This is only gonna take a second.” 

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Make me.” 

Dean knelt so close that Sam could feel his brother’s breath hot against his knee. Sam’s hand still covered his lap, but his hips tried to thrust as Dean’s fingers settled on the bare skin of his thigh. Dean’s head raised just enough that Sam could watch his tongue trace over his lips.

“This is really what you want?” Dean asked.

Sam was far past words with his heart already racing in his chest. He let his body speak, spreading his legs and moving aside his hands to reveal his tented boxers. 

A sharp intake of breath cut through the still air. Sam didn’t know whether the sound had come from himself or his brother, but before he knew what was happening, he was lifting his hips to help Dean ease the boxers down his legs. They’d barely fallen to his ankles before Dean’s tongue circled the tip of his cock, sucking it clean of pre-come and firing every nerve in Sam’s body. 

His back arched and he fisted the sheets as the moist heat of Dean’s mouth tightened around him, drawing him in. Sam fought the urge to close his eyes and drown in the ecstasy of the sensation. He didn’t have to close his eyes anymore. He didn’t have to pretend. It was Dean’s strong hands gripping him, holding him close. 

Sam let go of the sheets, winding his fingers into Dean’s hair. Dean’s eyes were closed, his face etched in concentration as if mapping the contours of Sam’s cock as he worked up and down the length. His pace quickened, the tension building in Sam’s groin until his entire body tightened and the tidal wave of release flowed far too soon.

Sam’s cock continued to pulse in Dean’s mouth as he collapsed against his brother. His hands slid from Dean’s hair to rest on his tight shoulders. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was propped up there before he remembered what he was forgetting. Sam leaned further down to fumble for Dean’s zipper. He groaned a protest when Dean grasped his wrist and steered his hand away. 

“I’m out of condoms,” Dean said.

“We don’t need them. I haven’t…”

“I know.” Dean’s grip remained firm on his wrists. “But I have.”

Sam practically jumped from his skin at the abrasive beep of the alarm clock. He’d barely remembered the sound. Most mornings, Dean stopped it before it really went off. Sam always awoke to Dean’s voice and now to his brother nestled between his knees.

He wanted to beg to remain exactly where they were, but Dean was already using Sam’s leg as leverage to get to his feet. Dean teased the tangles from his hair as he stumbled to shut off the alarm clock. 

Sam had expected that everything would be different. His head was swimming and his heart pounding louder than the rain, but even though his boxers were still down around his ankles, Dean just slapped his shoulder like usual. 

“Breakfast in fifteen, Sammy.”

“School? Dean, I can’t—” 

“You think you get to drop out just because you got off?” Dean snorted. “If that’s how it worked you would’ve been the only one left in your senior class. Come on, get your ass in gear.”

Sam wanted to protest further, but he still couldn’t keep enough air in his lungs to talk or force his thoughts to slow enough that he could catch them. By the time he looked up, Dean was already heading for the shower. For once, Sam wasn’t going to fight Dean for the hot water.

***

Sam was still catching his breath as he jogged past the chain link fence and back to the team’s bench. His teammates slapped his shoulders as he passed. He smiled breathlessly, clasping Jeff’s hand before plopping down on the bench beside him. 

Jeff laughed. “If you keep playing like that, the coach is going to send the rest of us home.”

“It wouldn’t matter what I did if we didn’t have the world’s best goalie,” Sam said with a nudge. 

“Good point. Now tell me tonight’s the night your brother’s gonna come around.” 

Sam froze with the water bottle inches from his lips. It took him a moment to realize there was no way that Jeff was meaning what Sam was thinking. Sam went ahead and took a long sip of water to buy himself a minute to answer. 

Jeff was the closest thing he had to a friend outside of Dean. It wasn’t that he hadn’t met a lot of other great kids at school, only that he didn’t need anyone other than Dean and if he had free time he wanted to spend it with his brother. 

If he did hang out with anyone else, though, it would be Jeff. They liked a lot of the same subjects, usually ate lunch with some of Jeff’s other friends and sometimes met in the library to study before school. Jeff’s sandy blond hair reminded him of what Dean’s had used to look like and his build wasn’t too different than Dean’s had been in high school. 

“Come around to what?” Sam asked. 

“There’s only a few games left before graduation. I mean, come on, we’ve been playing together for like three years and you’ve never come out to a post-game party. Ever. Pizza, Sam. Pizza and ice cream and mini golf. You guys have gotta come.”

Dean loved pizza and ice cream and, if he could walk, he’d probably even like mini golf. It wasn’t that Dean had explicitly said that he wouldn’t go. If Sam pushed enough, Dean would go anywhere, but Dean had seemed uneasy last time Sam brought it up and Sam didn’t actually care about going unless it sounded like fun to Dean. 

There’d been a time when Dean couldn’t walk out of the house and then he could as long as no one else was there. Now he seemed okay around people as long as those people were strangers. 

Sam looked out at the spectators on the bleachers. Even the ones who had come alone were talking with friends they’d made bringing their kids to the games. Most of them were smiling and cheering and then there was Dean. 

Dean usually hung around the bleachers like a ghost. He was a silent observer rather than an active spectator. He never drew attention to himself by cheering or stayed in one spot long enough for anyone to strike up a conversation. 

Dean was still afraid of being noticed. 

Sometimes, Sam wondered if the publicity after Dad’s death had been the hardest part for Dean. His brother had always liked to keep everything in and when the reporters had latched onto what they’d thought was their story it had driven Dean that much further into silence. 

By the time Dean had left the hospital, the news had long ago moved on to other sensationalized stories. Yet Dean’s paranoia about being noticed persisted even after they’d created new lies to wrap their new lives in. 

When Sam looked for Dean now and didn’t see him. Sam sat up straighter on the bench before checking the crowd again. 

His brother had never missed a game and he hadn’t missed this one either. Dean had been sitting on the front bleachers before the last goal. That seat was now empty. 

“Sorry, Jeff, not tonight. Dean just came down with some kind of stomach bug. He was really sick this morning.”

“Ah, man, that sucks big time.”

This time, none of it was even a lie. After he’d finally managed to pull himself together this morning, he’d walked into the bathroom to find Dean braced against the toilet dry heaving up whatever was left of last night’s whiskey. 

Sam glanced over the crowd again and stood when he still couldn’t find Dean. “Actually, I should probably head out and get him home. You think you guys can handle this without me?”

“Yes, sir, Winchester, sir,” Jeff said with a salute. “I’ll let the coach know. You go take care of that guy, but I better see him at the next party. Use the magic words — all you can eat pizza…just wait ‘til he’s done puking his guts out or we’ll never get to see him.”

“I’m on it,” Sam promised, even if that part was a lie.

Sam slipped out the back gate before anyone could complain. He usually snuck out early to help avoid Dean being dragged into coming to post-game parties. 

With as long as he’d been with the team, a lot of the guys, and even some of their parents kept mentioning wanting Dean to join them. Sam didn’t know how to explain that his brother’s primary reference to soccer moms was a porn movie and that Dean just didn’t like people. 

It was worse because Sam knew Dean was a curiosity. He was the beautiful, sad mystery stranger who hung silently at the edge of the crowd. No one knew what Dean had endured or what kind of hero he was. To everyone, he was just Sam’s big brother, and that seemed to be the way Dean liked it.

They were polite enough not to ask about it, but it wasn’t much of a secret that Dean was also his legal guardian. Even with as much as he hated people, Dean came to the science fairs and the honors awards ceremonies and the parent-teacher nights. Everyone had seen Dean, but he was the shadow in the room that no one could quite catch. 

When Sam caught him, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to kiss Dean or punch him. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his brother all day, more so than normal. Sam had spent his classes moving between pure bliss and paralyzing doubt and regretting having left Dean alone. 

During health class he’d lost focus on the skit presentations and made the mistake of replaying too carefully the details of what Dean’s mouth had done to him. He’d had to grab the hall pass and make a quick exit for the bathroom. 

Part way through chemistry, he hadn’t been able to shake the visual of Dean clutching the toilet coughing up mucus before even making it to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Sam had sat there rubbing Dean’s shoulders, feeing them tremble beneath his hand.

He’d excused himself from his study group and gone down to the office to call and check in on Dean. The only reason Sam had agreed to go to school despite Dean being sick was because Dean had promised to stay home, but when Sam had called the house, he’d only gotten the answering machine. 

Maybe Dean could have fallen asleep in his chair and not heard the phone the first time. Sam just had a hard time believing that Dean hadn’t heard it the other two times he’d called. Sam didn’t care what it cost, they were so getting cell phones. 

He found Dean leaning against a support beam in the shade behind the bleachers. The clouds had cleared earlier in the afternoon and only the muddy puddles left in the sodden grass gave any hint to the morning’s rains. 

“Where were you?” Sam asked.

Dean looked up, letting Sam see the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I was right up front.”

“No, earlier today. I called the house.”

“Oh.”

“’Oh’? Dean, you promised you were gonna stay in bed.”

“I had to go in. Phil called in sick.”

“You’re sick.”

Dean shrugged. “I feel fine now. I told you, vending machine tuna sandwiches are just a shitty idea.”

“You still look like crap, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, duty calls. I’m gonna be heading out of town tomorrow.”

Sam stomach dropped. “Dean, if this about this morning… I don’t need…”

“Dude, relax. It’s not about…that. We’re cool. There’s just a business conference up north this next week. Porter’s paying me triple overtime to go. It’ll be enough to pay for your yearbook, graduation gown and all that crap.”

Dean must have gotten something in the mail about graduation because Sam hadn’t mentioned any of that to him. He hadn’t even planned on going. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. It was just that it would be next to impossible to avoid Dean getting dragged into the crowds there. 

“I don’t need to walk at graduation.”

“You’re going. I sat through all those study sessions with you so I could see my geek kid brother in one of those dorky-ass gowns so you’re damn well gonna wear one.”

Sam smiled as he shook his head. There were so many ways that he hated the idea of Dean going on a business trip with Porter, but he didn’t have to be jealous of anyone because Dean really was his.

***

Sam had the key in the deadbolt before he glanced down to the cracked terracotta pot on the front steps. The thing had been sitting there filled with old, compacted dirt since they’d moved in. Dean usually used it to hold his beer, but now there was a plant stuck in it. 

It hadn’t actually been planted, the plant was still in the nursery pot with purple foil wrapped around the base, but it had been wiggled down into the dirt as if someone thought it should stay there. He had no doubt that that someone was his brother. Only Dean would leave a tropical plant outside to drown in its wrapper and think it would be fine. 

While neglecting a plant wasn’t a weird thing for Dean to do, it was weird that Dean was back already. He’d been checking in at odd hours of the night from Alderbrook Resort and Spa for the last couple days until yesterday when he hadn’t called at all. Sam had been desperately hoping to hear from Dean tonight, but hadn’t expected him back for days. 

He pulled the pot out, brushing the dirt from the foil and wiping it clean on his jeans. As he walked in, his foot dragged through a salt line. Dean still laid salt every night, but never in the middle of the day. At least he hadn’t for a long while. 

“Dean?” 

Sam heard a clatter from the kitchen. The sound of things being tossed around kicked his old training into full gear. Sam crouched low beside the couch, dropped the plant, and scanned the room for a weapon. He was halfway to the fireplace poker when Dean responded. 

“Yeah?” 

Sam sighed as he stood back to his full height. Dean’s voice sounded off, but it was more guilty and tired than under duress. Sam returned to shut the door and fix the salt line out of habit. His heart still pounded as he grabbed the plant and strode to the kitchen. 

He stood in the doorway and stared at his brother. Dean sat at the table as if he’d been doing nothing at all. The weapons bag at his feet and the familiar scent of gun-oil in the air said otherwise. 

“You dug up my plant,” Dean said. 

He sounded indignant, but his hands fidgeting on his whiskey flask gave away his nerves. Sam looked him over, scanning past weary eyes to Dean’s hair. It had been cut. He still had some wisps of bangs, but the rest was short and looked as if it has been trimmed with a rusty hatchet. 

“What did you do?” 

“Nothing.”

Sam took in a measured breath and tried again. “What happened to your hair?”

“I cut it.”

“Yeah, Dean, I can see that.”

“Then why’re you asking stupid questions?” Dean pushed back his chair. His steps were stiff as he walked around the table to snatch away the plant. “Seriously, what’re you doing with this thing?”

“It’s an African violet.”

“Thanks for the ID, Dr. Livingston, but why’s it in here?”

“It’s a houseplant,” Sam said as he took it back from Dean. “Which you’d known if you’d bought it.”

“Excuse me if I don’t have a fucking degree in plants.”

Sam shook off Dean’s defensive tone and set the plant in the kitchen windowsill. “Did Porter give it to you?”

“Huh?” Dean’s face twisted as he glanced between the plant and Sam. “Dude, could you be any more gay? I mean…” Dean cursed beneath his breath as he caught himself. “Sorry, Sammy. I just mean you can fuck guys and not be a girl.”

“Nobody said you’re a girl, Dean.”

Dean bit his lip and turned to stare out the window. He went to run his hand through his hair, but stopped partway, dropping his hand back to his side. He glanced down at it before shoving it into his pocket. 

“Ms. Baker brought it by,” Dean said with a nod towards the violet. “Said it was a get-well gift for her favorite Winchester brother. You think she could’ve come up with a better excuse to see me. I mean, who the hell gets a ‘get-well’ gift for someone who isn’t sick?”

“Dean, just tell me what’s going on.”

While Sam’s mouth kept insisting that he wanted to know, he was pretty sure he didn’t. His breath was still in his chest as he stared anxiously at Dean’s back, waiting for the condemnation and disgust to finally come. 

“I quit.” 

The words came after a long silence and the tone was so neutral that Sam couldn’t even begin to interpret them. The tension remained tight in his chest as he stared at Dean’s rigid back. 

“What?”

Dean took a shot from his flask before turning back towards Sam. “I quit my job.”

“Why?”

Dean shrugged. His thumb played over the cap of the flask where the warm rays of the early evening sun caught the metal. Sam’s brow furrowed as the filtered light illuminated discolored skin. He grasped Dean’s hand.

Dean jerked away, fist curled. Sam instantly released him and took a step back. He kept his hands where Dean could see them and waited for his brother to settle down. Dean grumbled an apology beneath his breath as his shoulders slumped. 

“Your knuckles are bruised,” Sam said. 

Dean looked down and flexed his hand. “Yeah, guess so. Banged them up at the shop.”

“I thought you were at a spa.”

“Right. I’ve been lounging back getting Thai massages from chicks in bikinis. It was awesome.”

“If it was so awesome then why are you back three days early?” Sam asked. 

“It was long enough. Wasn’t my thing anymore.”

“A resort with free food and alcohol and bikinis wasn’t your thing?”

Dean tossed the flask at his bag and walked around to the other side of the table. He looked like he wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. “I can go find another motel if that’s what you want.”

“Of course not.” Sam sighed. “I’m glad you’re back, Dean. I just wanna know why.”

“Why the hell does it matter? I already had something else lined up. Started today. I came back early. End of story.”

“And what exactly do you have ‘lined up’?” Sam asked, glancing towards the weapons bag. “You promised no more hunting.”

“Don’t worry. You’re never gonna have to hunt again.”

“And you’re not hunting without me.”

“Just relax, will you? It’s just another garage,” Dean said. “It’s not like I got hired by the fucking Ghost Busters.”

“So why are you cleaning guns?” 

“In case you got stuck on a stupid-ass game of twenty questions.” 

“I’m just worried about you, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy, but you got nothing to worry about.” Dean’s eyes drifted back to the duffel bag. “It’s stupid.”

“What is?”

“I just needed something familiar.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sam didn’t know why he was saying it. It wasn’t as it he didn’t have anything to apologize for, only that he wasn’t sure which of the multitude of things it was just then. 

“Not your fault.”

But it was. This was all his fault. He couldn’t even think about the fact that this life still felt foreign enough to Dean that he had to seek comfort in cleaning Dad’s old guns and, worse, felt like he had to lie about it. 

“Come on.” Sam made sure Dean could see his hand before setting it on his shoulder and steering him towards the closest chair. Dean followed Sam’s direction, sitting without question. “Let’s fix your hair.”

“Dude, what’s wrong with my hair?” 

Sam had to stop himself from saying what he really thought. So many of his dreams had come to involve burying his hands in Dean’s soft, sun-streaked hair. 

“It looks like you cut it with the lawn mower,” Sam said. “Where’d you leave the scissors?”

“We own scissors?” 

Sam knew better than to ask what Dean had used or why. He didn’t want to risk pushing Dean further away when the answer wasn’t likely to make sense anyway. 

He left Dean to grab the scissors from the desk drawer. When he returned to the kitchen, Dean was sitting still as a statue, staring out the window. The eerily familiar sight sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. Dean had spent weeks like that, hanging like a shadow, sitting for hours without speaking a word for days at a time. The silence still scared him. 

Sam brushed his hand over Dean’s head to pull him back before the point of the scissors were anywhere near his scalp. Dean jerked, but then rolled his head and relaxed back into the chair. 

“Where’s this new garage?” Sam asked. 

“Kent.”

“Wasn’t there anything closer?”

“It’s thirty minutes away. How much closer do you want?”

“What part of Kent?” Sam asked as he tipped Dean’s head to the side to get a better angle. He tried not to trim it any shorter, only to even out the clumps that stuck out.

“Who cares?”

“That city has bad areas. People get shot there.”

“Yeah, like once every ten years. For someone who’s so damn smart, you really suck at statistics. Besides, I shoot people.”

“No you don’t. You shoot… You used to shoot monsters.” Sam caught Dean’s head as he tried to turn it and pushed his chin down to his chest. “Why do you still carry a gun?”

“And they say I’m the schizophrenic one. Dude, seriously? Either the place is dangerous and I need protection or it’s perfectly safe and you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m always worried about you.”

Dean reached up to clasp Sam’s hand. “Hey, don’t worry, Sammy. I got everything taken care of.”

Sam stilled at the warmth, not only because of Dean’s calloused hand, but the look in his eyes when Dean tilted his head back. It had been a long time since Dean had looked that openly at him while he was awake. It was nearly enough to make Sam believe him.

***

Sam stood in the bedroom doorway trying to figure out exactly what his brother was up to. He didn’t care as much as he should because the view was more than a little distracting. It was a sight Sam had spent a number of classes daydreaming about. 

Dean stood in front of the dresser’s mirror staring at himself. He was wearing a suit, and not some cheap piece of crap Dad might have rented him for a case. It looked every bit as high-end as what Porter wore, though by the way Dean just shrugged the suit jacket onto the floor, Sam doubted Dean had paid much of anything for it. 

Sam stepped forward. “Where did you get that thing?” 

Dean spun around so fast his knee buckled. Sam rushed forward to catch him and helped him to sit back onto the bed. His hands lingered longer than they had over the cotton of the Dean’s dress shirt. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked. “I thought you and Jeff were playing study buddies.”

“We already went over everything.” 

“Dude, you do get that most people don’t actually study at study groups, right?”

Sam sat down on the bed next to him. “I hate to break it to you, Dean, but that porn series _Study Groups_ is not a documentary.”

“Well, shit, Sammy. You got any other dreams of mine you’d like to crush while you’re at it?” Dean wouldn’t stop fidgeting with his tie, sliding the red silk between his fingers. He glanced up at Sam. “Do I look that ridiculous?”

Sam looked down when he realized how hard he’d been staring. “That’s not really the word I was thinking of.”

"Not you, too. What’s everyone think is so goddamn sexy about a suit?”

Sam chuckled. “You’re the one with the suit kink, Dean.”

“Right.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “So…you wanna do something about it?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “You wanna fuck me?”

Sam choked. It was so like his brother to skip right past common sense and social normality to jump straight to the chase. No matter how awkward it was, it wasn’t even as if Sam could say no. Of course he wanted to fuck Dean. As far as he could tell, everyone did. 

More than anything, the question released a massive weight from Sam’s shoulders. Dean had left town so fast and hadn’t talked about them since he got back. Sam had just assumed that Dean had wanted to put what had happened between them as far behind him as possible. 

“Do you want to?” Sam asked. 

“If you do.”

“Dean, when you left town I thought you… I thought it was because of what happened.”

Dean looked at him as if he were speaking Greek. “I’m gonna need a hint here, Sammy. What happened?”

“You and me…”

“You thought I left because you wanted me to get you off? Dude, paranoid much? You wanted something. I took care of it. That’s what big brothers are for. Or…well, you know.”

Sam turned to fully face him. Dean looked exposed in that way that Sam was beginning to crave as Sam slipped his hand behind Dean’s head. He missed the softness of Dean’s longer hair, but quickly forgot about it as Dean leaned in to meet his kiss. 

It was worlds different than the first time with Dean’s lips now actively embracing his. Sam let Dean take control while his free hand moved down to start unfastening the buttons of Dean’s dress shirt. 

Dean jerked away. He pulled the gap in his shirt closed and re-buttoned it. “The shirt stays.”

“Uh…Dean, I’m pretty sure we’re going to take some clothes off to do this.”

“I know you’re new to this and all, Sammy, but there ain’t nowhere to stick a dick under my shirt.”

Sam rolled his eyes. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that Dean was trying to hide the scars. Sam didn’t mind them like Dean thought he did. They were a reminder of a horrible thing, but also of the fact that Dean was still here. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. You’re still beautiful.”

Dean dropped his head to his chest as his cheeks colored. “Sweet talk me all you want, but if you wanna get lucky, you gotta leave the damn shirt on.”

“Dean, if you don’t want to do this…”

Dean leaned over to dig into his bag. He sat back up and held out an envelope that had already been torn open. Sam raised a brow, but took it and unfolded the printed paper inside. 

“This says you’re HIV…negative,” Sam said.

“And negative for a whole bunch of other crap I should probably have.”

Sam sighed and set the paper aside. “Not having an STD doesn’t mean you want your brother to fuck you.”

“I went to a clinic.” Dean swallowed before his eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s. “I went into a clinic and let a doctor poke and prod me to make sure I was safe to be with you. You really think I would’ve done that just for kicks?” 

Sam’s expression softened, some of the tension leaving his body. “Then why are you hiding?”

“You’re such a damn buzzkill. Less talking, more fucking.”

Sam’s eyes focused on the tie that hung loose around his neck. “Dean could, I…?”

Dean’s eyes followed Sam’s gaze before nodding slowly. “You really did see me with Porter. What, did you stand there and watch the whole damn thing?”

Sam dropped his head to hide behind his bangs. 

“Sammy, you kinky son of a bitch. Who would’ve guessed?” Dean slipped the tie from his neck and pressed it into Sam’s hand. “Okay then.”

Dean kicked off the well-polished dress shoes that Sam had never seen before and unbuckled his pants. He pushed the slacks down to the floor so he was only wearing his briefs when he turned his back to Sam and rested his wrists on top of each other. 

Sam could barely force his hands to move as he stared at Dean standing there patiently waiting for his hands to be bound. His eyes fixed on the tight white briefs hugging the curves of Dean's ass. At this rate, Sam wasn’t going to make it long enough to actually fuck him. 

He wrapped the silk around Dean’s wrists, but hesitated to tighten the knot when Dean wiggled his fingers. While Sam might find it impossible to read Dean these days, Dean seemed to borderline on psychic. 

“You can make it tighter,” Dean said. 

Sam did, waiting for Dean’s nod before tying off the knot. He stood and walked around to face Dean. It was everything he’d imagined, only more perfect as he slid down Dean’s briefs and eased his brother down onto the bed. 

Dean started to scoot further back to make room for Sam, but Sam stopped him. He kneeled down on the floor between where Dean’s legs still dangled over the edge. 

Dean raised his head to look at him. “Sammy, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. He sagged back down onto the bed and spread his legs, fully exposing his soft cock where it lay against his scarred thigh. It was then Sam realized he had no idea what he was doing. He knew what mechanics were involved in giving a blowjob, but had only ever seen Dean do it. 

Sam followed Dean’s lead exactly, intent on returning the ecstasy his brother had given him. He moistened his lips and tentatively wrapped them around the tip of Dean’s dick. The taste was strange, salty and bitter, but wholly Dean. 

The cock twitched as his tongue circled and after only a few strokes the shaft began to harden against his tongue. Dean had made taking in both him and Porter look so easy. Sam had thought it was until Dean’s cock lengthened and Sam nearly choked himself twice trying to get more of it in than he could. 

“You’re doing fine, Sammy,” Dean assured him breathlessly. 

He wasn’t so sure until he looked up to see Dean’s face. His eyes were closed and his lips parted as his breath came in soft pants. Dean’s body tensed, pulling against the bonds as he shot into Sam’s before sagging back down on to the mattress. 

Sam struggled to swallow with his mouth still embracing Dean’s cock, but didn’t want to lose the connection. Dean was the one to break it as he shifted away and rolled so he lay on his side in the center of bed. 

Dean's eyes were still softly unfocused as he looked back to Sam. “There’s some lube in my bag.”

Sam had no idea what that meant and currently lacked the higher thinking to translate the words. He stared at his brother dumbly until Dean nodded again towards the bag. 

“Dude, inside pocket,” Dean said. “Hand me the tube. I’m a little tied up right now.” 

Those instructions were simple enough for Sam to manage, though walking was nearly too much with the friction of his jeans against his swollen cock. He caught on when he actually saw the tube of personal lubricant, not the gear grease he usually saw Dean working with. Sam leaned over to slip the lube into Dean’s hands. 

Sam stood transfixed as his brother unscrewed the cap behind his back and squirted some into his hands before tossing the tube as far towards Sam as he could without actually being able to move his wrists. He pushed up on his good knee to spread himself open and worked the lube inside him before plopping back down to flip onto his back with his legs propped up and open.

Dean quirked a brow. “You gonna make me wait here all day?” 

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Nothing to it, Sammy. Just glob some of that crap onto your dick and it’ll figure the rest out.”

Sam couldn’t have shoved his jeans down fast enough as he watched Dean lying there on the bed waiting. Waiting for him. He only hesitated once he’d climbed onto the bed and really thought about what he was about to do and how anatomically impossible it looked. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you?” 

Sam expected a joke in reply, but Dean’s answer was quiet and sincere. “No, I’m used to it.” 

As he carefully slid in, the heat of Dean’s body clenched around him. He leaned over Dean with his bangs flopping down around his brother’s face. 

Dean’s hips rose up to meet his thrusts until their bodies moved as one. Sam got yet another thing he’d always wanted and never thought he’d have as Dean really looked up him before tipping his head up to capture his lips.

***

Dean stood silhouetted by the bedroom window. It was the middle of the night and he’d been up drinking for an hour. It wasn’t weird that he was up, or that he was drinking, but it was strange that he was doing it in the same room as Sam.

Dean usually disappeared to another part of the house, but tonight he was cradling the whiskey bottle as he paced around their bedroom. He would sit at Sam’s desk for a few minutes, then get up to walk down the hall. When he came back he’d check the salt line at the window yet again.

Dean was keeping watch.

Sam knew it was only his brother’s paranoia. That didn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing on end. He remembered nights like this from when they’d been kids. Times when Dean had been quietly terrified and Sam had been too young to understand why. He didn’t understand much better now.

Sam remained laying in bed. He’d learnt from the best when it came to pretending to sleep, and there was no point in talking to Dean when he got like this. What Dean said in these states rarely made any sense and confronting him usually only led to at least one of them needing to apologize in the morning.

It still killed him to lie there watching Dean fight the monsters alone. He didn’t know what had triggered Dean to start doing this again. Sam had thought they’d moved past it.

Sam couldn’t see Dean when he walked around the bed, but he heard him digging around in his bag. He sounded like he was crawling on the floor before he stood. The keys in his pocket jingled as his jeans hit the carpet.

Dean had still been wearing only the dress shirt when he’d fallen asleep. Sam still couldn’t believe that any part of that hadn’t been a dream. Again, it was easy to think that it had been nothing more than fantasy since Dean had been fully dressed in his normal clothes by the time he’d started pacing the house. Sam glanced at the desk chair to confirm that the suit jacket was still draped over it, and relaxed into the mattress once he saw it. 

Sam waited as long as he could stand after Dean had settled back down beside him before slowly rolling over to look at his brother. Dean’s breathing was even. He lay on his side facing the door with his hand tucked beneath his pillow, again wearing the rumpled dress shirt. 

Whatever Dean was up to, he felt the need to hide it, which was reason enough for Sam to investigate. He stared into the dark until he was sure that Dean was asleep before slipping out of the bed and crouching beside it. Sam felt beneath the bed until his fingers brushed over a cool piece of metal lying on the floor. He held it out to catch the light from the window. 

The silver was twisted into a symbol that Sam didn’t recognize, but it had to be a ward of some kind. He clutched it in his hand before sliding it back beneath the bed. 

Sam climbed in beside his brother, rolling over so he could slip his arms around him. “It’s okay, Dean.” 

“Hmm?” Dean asked drowsily. 

“We’re safe.”

“Gonna miss you, Sammy.”

The mumbled words made Sam clutch Dean tighter. Dean moaned as if it hurt, and relaxed when Sam eased his grip. Sam was about to pull away when Dean scooted closer to nestle back into his chest. He tucked his chin against Dean’s shoulder, silently promising that he’d never let go.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam had turned off the alarm clock so Dean would sleep in. Some mornings it didn’t work, but Dean was exhausted enough to still be passed out a couple hours later than he usually climbed out of bed.

Sam had avoided starting the coffee or anything else that might wake Dean. He’d sat down at his desk intent on reading, but hadn’t turned more than a few pages in the last hour. The book lay forgotten on his lap while his gaze remained fixed on Dean. 

Dean’s twisting during the night had left the covers in a tangle. During the last half hour, he’d begun to roll around until the sheets were kicked down. He lay on his stomach with his bare legs sprawled over the bed and the tails of the dress shirt hiked up. Dean had stripped down again last night, including leaving his boxers on the floor so the soft morning light left nothing to the imagination. 

Dean flipped over again to roll onto his back and threw his arm over his head. The motion pulled the shirt up higher to expose his left side. Sam furrowed his brow when he saw the skin there. He set the book aside and walked over to the bed. At first, he’d thought it was a play of the shadows, but the skin over Dean’s ribs was mottled yellow and purple. 

Sam reached over to tug up the edge of Dean's shirt further and nearly got another fist to the face. He stumbled back out of reach as Dean leapt into a crouch. 

“Dean, it’s just me.”

Dean’s gaze darted around the room before he sunk back to sit on the mattress and jerked his shirt down. “What the fuck, Sammy?”

“Take off your shirt.”

Dean looked at him suspiciously. “No.”

“Then look me in the eyes and swear you’re not hustling.”

Dean’s still-sleepy eyes met his with a startling intensity. “I’m not hustling.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s right hand. Dean winced and yanked it back, but not before Sam saw the fresh bruising and healing split skin over his knuckles. 

“You’re seriously gonna tell me you haven’t been to a bar?” Sam asked.

“Dude, I told you, I got banged up at work.”

“Stop lying, Dean. You’re drinking like Dad and disappearing in the middle of the night. You’ve got wards set out like you’re expecting an army and you’ve been fighting someone.” Sam paused, waiting for Dean to deny any of it. He didn’t. “You’re scaring me.” 

“Hey, there’s nothing to worry about, Sammy.”

“Then just tell me what’s going on.”

Dean slipped off the bed and grabbed his jeans, jerking them on without bothering with his boxers. He left the dress shirt on as he walked past Sam and headed for the kitchen. 

Sam didn’t try to stop him. He could tell Dean was working out what to say so he followed quietly behind him. Sam was more than willing to wait Dean out, but became more and more uneasy the longer Dean remind silent. 

“I didn’t want to say anything.” Dean’s back was still to him as he started the coffee. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

Sam stood beside the kitchen table. He watched Dean take a couple mugs out of the cupboard and waited for him to continue. If Sam spoke, he was likely to say the wrong thing. Sometimes it was better to let the silence drive Dean to fill it. 

“I’ve been sparring,” Dean continued. “Just to stay in shape.”

There were a lot of things he’d imagined that Dean might have said. That Dean was sparring in his condition, when he could barely walk half the time, hadn’t even been on Sam's radar. 

“How could you…?” There was no point in asking how. If Dean wanted to do something he’d find a way, consequences be damned. “Do you have any idea how much damage you could be doing?”

“What’s it matter? It’s already fucked. Look, you wanted to know. I told you. Conversation’s over.”

Sam blocked him when Dean tried to walk past him to the toaster. Dean flexed his bruised fists, but surrendered, leaning back against the counter. 

“No, it’s not. Even if you were healthy, what you’re doing isn’t sparring. You’re really punching these guys.” Sam glanced down at Dean’s abdomen, knowing now that he wasn’t the reason Dean had been hiding his body. “They’re really punching you. We sparred for years, Dean. That’s not how it works.”

Dean shoved his hands into his jean pockets. The toe of his boot dug at the seam in the vinyl flooring. “You never sparred with Dad.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Are these guys hunters? Are you hunting?” 

“No, they’re not hunters. They’re just regular guys. Mixed martial arts or some crap. I don’t know.” Dean swallowed hard before he looked up. “I just know I need this.” 

“You need someone to beat you?”

“No, Sam, I just…” Dean took in a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes closed. “I just wanna be good for something." 

“Other than taking care of me.”

Dean looked startled. “You kidding me? Sammy, taking care of you, it’s all I got. I mean you got your friends and school. You’ve got a life and, man, you’re a freaky genius. You’re gonna do awesome things. But once you go, I got nothing. Just a bum leg and a crappy nine-to-five being somebody’s bitch.”

“What’re you talking about? We both have a life here.”

Dean wandered over to the wall-mounted CD rack and Sam’s frown deepened. The rack was stocked with Green Day and REM and a pile of new alternative rock bands with a few classical albums for studying. 

Dean had bought all the CDS for him. Anytime Sam had mentioned liking a song, the CD would just show up on his desk. It was Dean who loved music and he’d never bought any for himself. All of Dean’s songs were on cassettes, stuffed under the seat of the Impala. 

This house was full of books that Dean never read. The mantle held Sam’s soccer trophies and team portraits of him and his friends. The closet had Sam’s jackets and the drawers his shirts. All of Dean was out in the garage with the Impala, locked away in a trunk. What he had in the house, Dean still kept in his bag. He’d never moved in and Sam had never noticed. 

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything. I should’ve seen it. But, Dean, you've got me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean scrubbed his hand over his face and nodded before he turned away, heading down the hallway. Sam sighed and followed his brother back to the bedroom. 

By the time he walked in, Dean had already opened one of the drawers to Sam’s desk and pulled out a stack of envelopes. He dropped them down over the papers. Stanford’s acceptance letter landed on top. 

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go,” Dean said. “You should.”

Sam stared down at the envelopes and shook his head. “Dean, those are the ones I turned down. I applied to the University of Washington.”

“You should go wherever you want.” Dean collapsed into the desk’s chair and stared down at the carpet. “I guess I just would’ve liked a heads-up, you know? You didn’t say anything about college.”

“Dean…you helped me study for the SATs.”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s an admission test for college.”

Dean slumped back in the chair. “I thought it was just some stupid senior test.”

“Dean, I wasn’t trying to hide this. I really thought you knew. I just didn’t talk about it because you were already worried about money.” Sam looked carefully at his brother, past the mask to the defeat that brimmed just below the surface. “You really thought we were just going to hit the road after I graduated?”

“I just thought this was a nice place for you to finish school.”

“I’m not leaving you, Dean, but I’m not going back to hunting and hustling and living out of cockroach-infested motel rooms. You gotta let it go. The weapons, the wards, the ‘sparring’. You’re hurting yourself and, if you’re not careful, you’re gonna hurt someone else.”

Dean shoved out of the chair and paced over to the window. He traced his finger along the salt line. “I might be nuttier than a fruit cake, but I know what’s real. I’m not acting out some alphabet soup of Freudian bullshit. I’m trying to keep you safe. We’re sitting ducks here, Sammy. Sooner or later, it’s gonna find us.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not because there’s nothing there! It’s not like we can go back on the road, anyway. You can’t even drive that damn car.” 

Dean flinched. Sam knew he should take it back, but didn’t know how else to get through to his brother. 

“This house, college — that’s what’s real,” Sam said. “I want you to get your GED so you can get a job you love. I want you to be happy here.”

“I’m not finishing that damn test. I can’t do it.”

“I know the first test was hard, but if we just study some more—”

“I knew all the answers.”

“Then why’d you walk out?” Dean didn’t look like he planned on answering, but his hand unconsciously gave away the answer as it moved to rub his thigh. “You couldn’t sit that long. Dean, why didn’t you just say so? With a doctor’s note, you can get an accommodation to take breaks.”

“I don’t need an accommodation,” Dean spat. “I’m not fucking disabled.”

Sam really was going to strangle him. Dean insisted on finding a fight for which he pretended he was perfectly able even it destroyed his knee, but he was willing to let denial stop him from doing something that could really change his life for the better. 

“Dean, it’s not a torture endurance test. We should have someone else look at your leg anyway.”

“Damn it, Sam, no! Just stop fucking bringing it up. I’m not going through this again. I’m not gonna talk about it and I sure as hell don’t need another doctor to tell me what I already know. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Nothing’s gonna change.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to.” Dean sat on the edge of the bed just long enough to jerk on a dirty pair of socks and shove his feet into his boots. “I’m late for work.”

Sam followed after Dean as he headed for the garage. “Dean, you’re not even dressed.”

“I don’t care.” Dean threw open the door before spinning around to face him. “Look, Sam, I want you to have everything, I do. Pick any school in the country or hell, the world, and I’ll back you up on it, but you gotta let me do what I have to.”

The door slammed in his face before Sam could process the words, let alone think of a rebuttal. With the grind of the garage door opening, he knew there was no point in following. He could only stand there listening as the Impala’s tires squealed out of the driveway.

***

It had been a half an hour since the Impala pulled in and Dean was still out in the garage. Sam sat listening in Dean’s chair, where he’d been sitting since midnight. There’d been no point in pretending that he’d gone to sleep. He was too desperate to see his brother in one piece. 

He had managed to read for the better part of the night, but only because it had been about Dean. His eyes burned from too many hours of surfing the internet on the pathetically slow dial-up modem that Dean still thought was cutting-edge. 

It had been a long time since Sam had researched monsters and there was no part of it that he had missed. He just had to be sure.

Sam had always assumed that Dean was running from something that was long dead, but the more he thought back on it, the less sure he became. There’d been no body and when he’d found Dean, his brother had barely been breathing. In that state, Dean couldn’t have killed anything and it just didn’t make sense that something that strong would have left him alive. 

Sam waited as long as he could before kicking down the chair’s footrest and heading out to the garage. He pushed open the door to be met with only darkness and Led Zepplin’s _Kashmir_. 

He felt for the light switch, clicking on the florescent shop light before stepping out into the garage. The boom box they’d found in the attic sat silent on the workbench. The music was coming from the Impala where his brother still sat in the driver’s seat. 

Sam released a sigh of relief that the car wasn’t fully running. Dean had yet to move and Sam wasn’t able to tell if Dean was even awake until he looked in the side window. There he found Dean staring blankly ahead

Sam opened the passenger door and slid onto the seat. Dean’s half-hooded eyes didn’t so much as blink at Sam’s presence. The only movement was Dean flexing his hands around the steering wheel. 

"Do you want to go for a drive?" Sam asked.

Dean gripped the wheel hard and shook his head. 

The scariest thing about Dean these days was that even Sam couldn’t read him. He didn’t know what Dean might do or what he wanted, but he did remember what Dean had been like when they’d been on the road. 

Dean’s excited energy had used to wear on Sam. Everything had to be the punch line to a joke and every new town meant a stop to check out the local diner’s pies and burgers. He’d been the most at ease in between places, flying down the highway with the music blaring. 

Sam hadn’t thought about it, not for a long time, because it just hadn’t been possible anymore. And part of him had been glad for that. He’d thought of everything Dean did as reckless and dangerous and force of habit. But he hadn’t thought about the fact that that was Dean.

“What do you want?” Sam asked.

“I want you to be happy.”

The answer was so innate to Dean that there was no hesitation before Dean spoke it, making Sam feel as guilty as he did wholly loved. He knew in the end Dean would give up everything for him and that wasn’t what he wanted. He only wanted to make sure his brother was safe. 

“And what do you think makes me happy?” 

“This,” Dean said with a weak gesture to the house around them. “A home, school—”

“You.” 

Dean stopped playing with the steering wheel and finally looked towards him.

“It’s you, Dean. I would give all this up in a second for you. You know I want you to be happy, right?”

“I’m happy when you are, Sammy.”

In part, Sam knew it was true because he felt the same way about Dean. He also knew it couldn’t possibly be enough. For years, Dean had been living vicariously through him, wasting away. 

“Dean, about what I said this morning… I’m sorry.”

“No, you were right. I’m being an idiot. I mean, look at me. I can’t drive. I can’t hunt. I sure as hell can’t leave you. And if there’s even a chance with this whole doctor thing…it’d be stupid not to take it.”

“You’re serious?” Sam asked. “You’ll go see a doctor?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, yeah.”

The nonchalance in Dean’s tone didn’t match the shaking in his hand as he pulled the key out of the ignition. He knew Dean was scared, but even if they couldn’t actually fix it, there had to be something useful doctors could do. Now he just had to prove that to Dean.

***

Dean used to make up stories when asked what had happened to him. He was a retired rodeo star. He’d been mauled by a great white. He was a firefighter who had fallen out of a hundred-foot tree while saving a litter of kittens. Every time it was a different story, each more unbelievable than the last 

That was until Dean had registered him for junior high. Then Dean had told the admissions counselor that it had been a car accident. Not some high-profile NASCAR explosion, just a normal car accident, the same one that had killed their dad. 

For Dean, it had been strangely close to the truth, and the explanation had made their situation real in a way it hadn’t been before. Dad was gone. They were really in this alone. 

It had struck him even harder yesterday when Dean told the doctors that it had been a bear attack. A hunting accident. Dean’s voice had been forced to a clinical neutrality, but Sam still couldn’t shake the hidden agony he’d seen in Dean’s eyes. 

The week had gone downhill from there. 

“I should’ve just cut it off,” Dean said. “The peg leg look ain’t that bad.”

Sam might have laughed if his brother didn’t sound serious. “It’ll be fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, it would’ve been fine if I’d chopped it off before they’d charged me two thousand bucks for a fucking picture of it. It’s broke. Who the hell would want a designer portrait of the damned thing?”

Sam shook his head. There was no point in arguing about it anymore. He’d already gotten what he wanted. 

Dean had been referred to an orthopedist nearly as soon as they’d sat down in the general practitioner’s exam room. After a few physical tests, the orthopedist had sent them down the road to the hospital’s medical center with an order for X-rays and an MRI. 

Dean had been inconsolable since then, not only from being in the hospital, but because the hospital had refused his insurance. Dean had wanted to come back later and it had taken over an hour for Sam to guilt him into paying out of pocket and going forward with the tests that day. 

Sam had known it was his only chance. If they’d left, he would’ve never gotten Dean back into that hospital. 

Sam brushed his bangs back and returned his gaze to one of several skeletal anatomy posters that hung in the orthopedist’s waiting area. He’d memorized all the names of the bones in the foot and had moved on to the hand.

Dean was outwardly calmer than he had been yesterday, but that wasn’t saying much. Neither of them had slept last night. 

They sat leaning together on a two-person chair that shook lightly with the vibration of Dean’s twitching. With his hand resting on Dean’s thigh, Sam could feel his brother’s aborted jumps every time a door opened. 

It was a small office and no other patients were in the waiting room, but the office shared the complex with the general practitioner and a handful of other specialists. The coming and going of unseen people down the hall, running in and out of the rain, scraped Dean’s nerves raw. 

Sam lost focus on the hand poster somewhere around the proximal phalanges. His attention drifted back towards the exam room door, willing it to open. He couldn’t pray any harder or draw in enough air with how tightly his insides were twisted into knots. 

This was it. This was the chance neither of them had counted on, the one that could prove to Dean that it wasn’t over. 

When the door finally opened and the receptionist called Dean’s name, Sam flew to his feet. Dean rose slowly and looked disinterested at best. Sam knew what Dean expected to hear and would literally sell his soul for Dean to be wrong. 

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Mr. Winchester,” Dr. Dover said with a welcoming smile. “Why don’t you have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.”

Dr. Dover was a tall woman with raven black hair that was just starting to pick up grey streaks. She was young enough that Dean seemed to find her pleasant and old enough that Sam believed she knew what she was talking about. 

Dean dropped down into the closest chair without bothering to make himself comfortable. He didn’t look like he was planning on staying. 

Sam took the other vinyl chair, putting himself between Dean and the doctor, as Dr. Dover settled on the rolling stool beside the counter. She set down a couple of manila folders and flipped through Dean’s file once more before turning towards them. 

“So these results do confirm what we discussed regarding the ACL tear as we saw in the instability of the joint yesterday.”

“All those tests showed an assload of nothing more than we already knew?” Dean asked. “There’s a shocker. Where do I get my refund?”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm as he tried to stand and pulled him back down into the chair. He sent an apologetic look to Dr. Dover. “Excuse my brother.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I would like to be excused.”

“Dean, sit down and shut up.”

“You shut up.”

For reasons that were beyond Sam, Dr. Dover was hiding a smile as she patiently waited for Dean to settle back down. The fact that the doctor looked amused let Sam dare to hope that there was good news coming.

“While we frequently see ACL tears, what we do not typically see is someone who has continued such high levels of activities in the absence of treatment. The pain and physical limitations are generally enough to prevent that.” She raised her brow as she looked at Dean. “Mr. Winchester, I’m not sure whether to give you a gold medal or question your sanity.”

Dean’s grip on the chair became white-knuckled. Sam set his hand over Dean’s, squeezing it to remind him they were only words. Dean nodded and released the breath he was holding. 

“I guess I’m just that awesome,” Dean said tightly.

“Well, you do have an impressively strong muscular structure in your thigh and hamstrings, which has likely prevented some of the instability that we frequently see in these cases.”

“It’s not as bad you thought?” Sam asked.

His heart fell as hesitation crept onto Dr. Dover’s face. He even felt Dean’s shoulders slump against his, which strangely made him feel more hopeful. On some level, Dean did still care. 

“I’m afraid that the MRI did also confirm that the delay in treatment combined with that level of activity has led to additional damage of the surrounding joint tissue. We are seeing some damage to the surrounding ligaments and the imaging did show significant wear and tear of the cartilage, so a portion of the stiffness and swelling is likely a result of that developing osteoarthritis.”

“Come again?” Dean leaned forward in his chair. “Lady, I’m twenty-two and your diagnosis is arthritis?”

Sam could have kissed Dr. Dover for the patient smile she gave Dean. He knew it was fear making Dean defensive. If Dean couldn’t run, he was going to fight. The doctor seemed to recognize it as the coping mechanism it was. Sam still squeezed Dean’s hand to try to pull him back. 

“Unfortunately, post-traumatic arthritis doesn’t care how old you are,” Dr. Dover said. “Without the stability of the ACL we can see dramatically accelerated loss of cartilage.” 

Dr. Dover opened one of the manila envelopes and rolled over to click on the wall-mounted light box. She slid in two X-rays and moved aside so they could see them. 

“This is your healthy left knee,” she continued as she pointed to the far image. “And this beautiful gap between the bones is the cushioning cartilage, which you can see has worn thin on sections of the right knee here.”

The frown on Sam’s face deepened as he looked between the two X-rays. He’d done enough research on his own to know that cartilage loss was a possibility, but he’d hoped that it wouldn’t be so pronounced.

“Does he need the knee replaced?” Sam asked. 

“No, not at this point. With the clear signs of beginning osteoarthritis at this age, that may become a necessity in the long-term, but there are a number of measures that we can take in the meantime to push that option as far into the future as possible.”

Dr. Dover shut off the light box and rolled back over to the counter. “Right now, the immediate concern is the reconstruction of the ACL and repair of the meniscus cartilage, which I think considering the location of the tear he’s still a good candidate for. Aside from returning function to the leg, that will slow the degeneration of the articular cartilage protecting the bones.”

Dean lifted his head from where he’d been staring at floor tiles. “When you say ‘return function’…?”

“We’ll have to review the long-term symptoms based off the success of the meniscus repair, but you are young and healthy and as long as you follow through with rehab, you’ll be running and jumping and doing whatever it is you just can’t stay away from.”

Dean’s face had become an unreadable mask. This time when Sam’s hand tightened over Dean’s it was as much to assure himself that he was awake and this was real. 

“So after the surgery, Dean won’t have any more pain, buckling, or numbness? It’ll be fixed?” Sam asked because he knew Dean needed to hear it and because he just wanted to say it. 

“There may be some persistence of symptoms especially in the first year, but more on the order of minor pain and stiffness, possibly some clicking. The joint will be stabilized and I’m not seeing any indications of actual nerve damage. More likely it’s pressure from the swelling causing the numbness, which should no longer be of issue.” 

Sam knew he was smiling like and idiot and he didn’t care. “And we can do the rehab ourselves?”

“A lot of it you’ll do at home, but you’ll initially also need to come in several times a week to work with a physical therapist. We do have one here in the building that’s very capable.”

“A week?” Dean asked. “Like one week?”

“It’s going to take quite a bit longer than that. The recovery from this surgery is a lengthy process and one that you do need to take your time with, but within six months you should be able to return your full level of activities.”

Dean choked. “Six months?” 

“For unrestricted activity, yes, because we need to give time for the graft to heal. You should expect to be on crutches for the first several weeks, after which point you should be walking without support.”

“I can’t just—”

Sam popped up from his chair and tugged his brother up along with him as he thanked Dr. Dover for her time. He had all the information he needed, and no excuse Dean was going to come up with was a story that the doctor needed to hear.

***

The drive home had been filled with the AC/DC’s greatest hits and the swooshing of windshield wipers battling the falling rain. Dean had stared silently out the windshield, not even present enough to bob his head along with _Back in Black_.

Sam had watched him out of the corner of his eye and still did as they sat in the driveway where the dark grey skies made it look far later than it was. Dean hadn’t pulled into the garage or made a move to get out of the car and Sam likewise remained silent in his seat.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and turned to gaze out the side window. There was so much that Sam wanted to say, but he couldn’t comprehend what was going through Dean’s head. This was everything they could’ve hoped for and more. They should be celebrating, but Dean looked miserable and distant enough that he was starting to scare Sam.

“So I can take off next week,” Sam said. “We’re just reviewing for finals and I’ve already gone over it all.”

“No. You’ve missed enough school.”

“What’re you talking about? I've only missed two days this year.” Sam continued when Dean remained silent. “You’re going to need help at least for the first few days.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“You’re not doing what?”

“The surgery.”

Sam’s mouth gaped. “You can’t not do it. Dean, you heard the doctor. They can fix you.”

“No, they can’t. Nobody can.”

The last words were whispered beneath Dean’s breath. Sam wasn’t sure if he’d meant for him to hear them, but he had and the defeat twisted inside him until his chest was so tight he struggled to breathe.

“They can fix this,” Sam said, choosing the battle over the war. “You hurt all the time.”

“I can deal with it.”

“But you don’t have to.”

Dean’s head turned back enough that Sam could see the tensed outline of his jaw. He glanced to Sam, the unspoken truth clear in his unmasked eyes.

“You want to.” Sam almost choked on the words, half accusation, half statement of fact. “You want it to hurt.”

Dean‘s gripped his own wrist, clutching it tightly before massaging his forearm. He stared down at it, tracing his thumb over the bit of jagged scar that peeked out from beneath his flannel.

“I should’ve finished it,” Dean said.

His voice was as distant as his eyes, which Sam still futilely tried to read. The wave of emotion that had saturated Dean’s expression was long gone. It had been replaced by the wall Dean had built after Dad, one he wouldn’t even let Sam see beyond.

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there.”

The words cut like a knife twisting in his gut. Dean sounded too distant for the words to be the accusation Sam felt. It didn’t make them any less true.

“I know. I should’ve been there. I know I…”

Dean’s eyes focused when Sam’s voice cracked. His frown deepened and he dug into his jacket to pull out his flask. He took a swig before setting it on the seat beside him. His hand rested on it, fingers twisting the cap.

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I just want you to get better. ”

“I can’t risk it.”

“They’re not gonna to take you, Dean. I won’t let them. These doctors are just here to help.”

Dean looked at him like he had no idea what Sam was talking about. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the damn doctors.”

“Then what?”

“I can’t be down and out that long.”

Sam twisted in his seat to fully face Dean. His brother hunched into himself, absently tracing protection sigils in the condensation building on the window. Sam had been too relieved to notice it at the doctor’s office, but Dean hadn’t asked a single question about the surgery other than how fast he could be up and running.

“You still think it’s coming back.”

Dean nodded, a movement so slight Sam would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring right at Dean.

“Is it here?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure it ever left.”

Sam rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. He rubbed his eyes and tried to choke down the frustration.

Dean was scared. He was just looking out for him, Sam knew that. Dean had always been the one to tell him whether or not it was okay, but it’d been so long since he’d been able to trust Dean’s perception. All he wanted was his brother back and he didn’t know if he was waiting for someone who could never come home.

“You can’t live like this,” Sam said as he raised his head. “I can’t live with you like this.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Urgency flashed over his eyes before he shoved it back with the same ease that he buried the flask back into his pocket. He sat up in his seat, grunting as he repositioned his leg then turned the key in the ignition.

“I gotta get to work.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. “Not until we finish talking about this.”

“Sam, get out of the car.”

“I know you don’t believe it, but this can get better, Dean. It’s not always gonna hurt.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. “Life’s a bitch then you die. Can we stow the greeting card crap? I’m gonna be late.”

Sam would be hesitant to let Dean go even if he believed Dean was going to work. He couldn’t figure out what Dean’s work hours actually were, but he was pretty sure work was the last thing on Dean’s mind.

“I’m going with you. If there’s something out there, we’ll fight it together.”

“It’s not your fight.” Dean scrubbed his hand over his face. “I know you’re worried, Sammy, and I’m sorry. I’m not blowing this off. I’ll think about it, okay? I just need to get my shit together first.”

“Where are you really going?”

“I’m gonna run a fucking marathon before yoga class.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, I told you, I’m going to work. Might as well make myself useful while I’m thinking.”

“I just don’t get what there is to think about.” Sam sighed when his only answer was the beating of the rain against the hood. “Fine, but Dean, just be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Dean said with a disingenuous smirk. “I’m gonna be late so don’t wait up. There’s leftover’s in the fridge and the salt’s in the front closet.” Dean bit his lip before continuing. “The gun in my bag is loaded with silver, if you remember how to fire the thing.”

“I can still handle a gun, but I’ll feel a lot better when you’re back.”

Sam wasn’t above guilting Dean if it brought him home sooner. As he stepped out into the rain and watched the Impala disappear down the street, he knew that Dean couldn’t come home soon enough.

***

Sam had just set down his coffee cup when a crash in the garage jolted him from his reading. He looked up from the crude representation of a Wendigo that was printed on the yellowing pages of the reference book that he might have snuck from the library. 

Sam listened for a follow-up sound before he crept back from the desk to dig the gun out of Dean’s bag. It wouldn’t help against a Wendigo, but despite his mind screaming danger, he logically knew there wasn’t a monster in the garage. 

It was Dean or Ralph sneaking under the door or only his imagination. Despite knowing that, he still took the gun with him if only to prove to Dean that he was capable of defending himself if something did come. Not that it would. 

Sam hesitated at the garage door before unlocking it and pushing it open. He flipped on the light switch. No one was there. 

The garage was Dean’s. Sometimes Sam even thought Dean’s favorite part about living in a house was having a garage to put the Impala in. Sam only walked through the garage getting in or out of the car or when he was looking for his brother. He’d never really looked at the garage itself. Nothing about it had ever seemed out of place. 

It had a cluttered work bench where Dean tinkered on pieces of engines with drills and bit sets that Sam had gotten Dean for various Christmases. There was a large Craftsman tool chest, which was probably one of the most valuable things in the whole house. It was only there because, like the lawnmower, it had belonged to their landlord’s ex-husband and she’d thought it was too heavy to bother moving. 

All those things were where they usually were, but after another glance, Sam spotted what had changed. 

Over the workbench had hung an old corkboard. Now the wall was blank with a rectangle of more intense paint that the corkboard had guarded over the years from the sun. The corner support nail had fatigued and bent too far down to any longer hold the weight of the board. 

Sam had never bothered to wonder why the corkboard had been mounted on the wall backwards. Now as he stood there clutching his brother’s gun, he saw why. 

The corkboard side now lay upright on the floor and exposed a carefully arranged collection of newspaper clippings and gruesome photos. It looked like the workings of a serial killer, but there was no question about who had arranged them. It was exactly how Dad used to map hunts. 

Sam could only glance over the coroner photos of the mangled bodies and instead focused on the articles Dean had chosen to collect. They were nearly all about animals attacks talking about people who had been killed by pit bulls, bears and cougars, with a few industrial accidents mixed in. 

Wild animal attacks were something out of the norm in Kearny, New Jersey, where Dad and Dean had been torn apart, but here they lived in the foothills of the Cascades. When an animal attack happened here it was a sign of civilization encroaching too far into the natural habitat of predatory animals, not a supernatural event. 

He wasn’t sure how Dean had found so many attacks, but he was less worried about the articles than what they meant. They proved that Dean wasn’t just out fixing cars. 

It didn’t take long for Sam to start prying around Dean’s work area. He found Dad’s journal in one of the trays of the tool chest. The compartment above was stocked with silver bullets and coins that had yet to be melted down. In the lower compartment, he found the molds and Dad’s old bench-top crucible.

Sam took the journal and headed back into the house with a suspicion in his gut that he hoped was wrong. He returned to the bedroom and set the journal aside on the desk. He jerked open the closet’s accordion door and pushed aside the hangers until he found Dean’s suit hidden against the wall. Sam dug into the pocket, tensing as his fingers brushed against leather. 

“Damn it, Dean,” he whispered as he flipped open the FBI badge.

It was little wonder why Dean had looked so guilty when Sam had walked in on him in the suit. He didn’t know why Dean had the suit to begin with, but it was clear what he’d been using it for since. 

Sam tossed the badge aside on the bed and flipped through the journal. Dean hadn’t written anything further on its pages. Sam could just imagine Dean thinking it was too sacred for him to write in, but there were notes written on loose pieces of papers set inside the journal that were written in Dean’s handwriting. 

Some of them related to the articles Dean collected while others were scribbled names and phone numbers. The least wrinkled paper was written on a small sheet ripped from a pad with a logo and contact information for Al’s Foreign and Domestic Auto Repair in Kent. 

Sam started to flip the journal closed when if fell to the divider of Dad’s list of contacts. Dean had refused to call any of them, not Bobby or Pastor Jim or Caleb. Dean hadn’t wanted to talk about it to anyone and Sam had wanted to get Dean so far from hunting that he hadn’t argued, even if they had needed the help in the beginning. 

It wasn’t as if Sam wanted them involved either, but he did trust Bobby and he wanted to put this all to rest for his brother. If Dean wouldn’t listen to him, maybe he would listen to someone Dad had trusted. 

Sam was determined as he strode down the hallway to the phone, but his fingers hesitated as he leaned against the kitchen counter. He wasn’t sure that he was going to be any more able to talk about it than Dean and that wasn’t the only problem.

Sam had always liked Bobby. He’d been like family, only better because Bobby had gone out of his way to make things fun for Dean. It wasn’t something Sam had been conscious of at the time at the time, but in retrospect he realized how badly his brother had needed it. 

But as Sam looked around their kitchen and out the window past the fence to the neighboring houses, it didn’t feel as if Bobby belonged here any more than the coroner photos belonged in their garage or the silver knife in their underwear drawer. They were things from another life that seemed determined to creep into what they’d built here. 

With the possible exception of Bobby, Sam didn’t want them anywhere near here. He just didn’t know how else to help his brother finally let go of them.

Sam straightened out one of the dog eared pages of the journal as he listened to the phone ring. He began to wonder if it was even Bobby’s number anymore when a gruff voice laced with suspicion spoke on the other end of the line. 

“Who is this?” 

“Uh, it’s Sam.” He heard nothing but breathing. “Bobby? I don’t know if you remember us. My brother Dean and I, we used to stay at your place.”

“Sam? Sam Winchester? Boy, I have half a mind to reach this through this phone and throttle you. I’ve been looking for you and your brother for five years. Where in the hell have you been that you couldn’t pick up a damn phone?”

Sam was left shell-shocked from the tirade that was exactly the Bobby he remembered, but was such a contrast to the quietness he’d grown accustomed to with Dean. 

“You looked for us?”

“Of course I looked for you, you idjit! Didn’t do much else once I got word about your daddy and brother. I’m real sorry about them, Sam.”

Dean had been too lost in himself and Sam too lost in Dean to think of anyone else after Dad was gone. He still ignored the question of where they were because Dean would be mad enough that he’d called Bobby, let alone if he told anyone where they were. 

“Thanks, Bobby. Actually, Dean’s why I called. He’s hunting something and, this is going sound strange, but I don’t know whether or not it’s real. I don’t think it is, but I can’t find references for some of these wards he’s been using.”

“You wanna run that by me again? You say Dean’s hunting? As in that boy’s walking and talking?”

Sam shrugged to himself. Neither of those two activities were really Dean’s strong suits, but he knew what Bobby meant. “Yeah, Dean’s alive.”

“And functional?”

“Uh, mostly, yeah. Why?” 

“Well, I just assumed… Sam, last I heard they had your brother locked away. We’d lost you in system and then next I checked in on Dean he was gone too. I figured Dean was buried and you were out of the life.”

“We have been out of the life. This hunting thing’s new, or at least I think it is. It’s kind of hard to tell with Dean sometimes.”

“And let me guess, this thing your fool brother is chasing is the thing that killed John.”

“Yeah, what do you know about it?”

It was a question that Sam had never thought he would be able to ask, let alone get answers to. His grip on the phone tightened as he heard Bobby sigh on the other end and stop to take a drink. 

“I know it ain’t nothing short of a damn miracle that your brother hasn’t killed himself yet. Once these things get up in someone, they don’t tend to let them go easy.”


	7. Chapter 7

The last bus of the night to Kent had been running behind schedule and a guy whose breath had burned with tequila had spent most of the ride serenading Sam with the chorus of ‘All Out of Love’. Sam had no idea if he’d gotten off at the right stop. He was just glad to be off. 

There was still a steady stream of traffic on the main road, but only the occasional car splashed over the wet street behind him. There was just enough light from the streetlight down the road to illuminate the water-filled potholes and cast deep shadows around the graveyard of old cars in various states of decay. 

The faded sign over the garage said he’d found Al’s Foreign and Domestic Auto Repair. He snuck around back, hugging closely to the building’s peeling walls. While the front looked deserted, the back lot was crammed full of cars. Most of them were too high-end to look at home in the dingy warehouse district. 

The only car he cared about was parked directly in front of the building’s back door. The Impala was snuggled in between a looming luxury SUV and a souped up roadster. At least he knew Dean had been here, but he didn’t know if he still was or what kind of trouble he was in. 

Sam tested the door handle. It didn’t budge. He checked the lot around him once more before going to work on the lock. While he had sworn off breaking and entering, he hadn’t actually forgotten anything Dad had taught him. 

The door opened onto a set of stairs that descended into darkness. He slipped onto the landing, closing the door behind him and listened as he gave his eyes a moment to adjust. There were voices down below shouting over the heavy rumble of music, excited and raucous. Sam would’ve guessed that he was about to bust in on a rave if he could even begin to imagine Dean at one. 

Dean before the last hunt, maybe. Picking up drunk girls had never been Dean’s thing. He had plenty of sober girls throwing their phone numbers at him, but Dean wouldn’t have turned down a party that promised alcohol and half-dressed girls in search of a one-night stand. That wasn’t Dean anymore. 

Sam still couldn’t see as he started down the steps. There was only the light seeping in beneath the door ahead casting a faint glow over the lower steps. He felt along the wall until his hand brushed over the railing. 

At the bottom, he stopped outside the door where he could more clearly hear the voices beneath the thrum of music. It was cheering, but something about the sound was wrong. The hooting and hollering rang like the savage laughs of hyena closing in on their prey. 

Sam slipped his hand beneath his jacket and gripped the gun he’d found in Dean’s bag. His fingers curled around the trigger as his other hand tested the doorknob. It turned easily and he cracked the door just enough that he could see into the basement. It wasn’t the sight, but the smell that struck him first.

The stale air was heavy with blood and sweat. Beneath the deafening music and shouting was the unmistakable sound of flesh pounding against flesh. 

The edges of the room were dark and Sam slipped easily into the shadows, closing the door behind him. He squinted against the bright work lights that were focused on the corner of the room. His gut twisted as he realized they were highlighting the vicious beating he couldn’t see past the crowd, but could hear all too well. 

An uneasy relief settled over him as he listened. Those pained grunts didn’t belong to his brother. Someone needed help, but he had to find Dean first. 

No one seemed to be paying attention to anything other than the beating. Sam melted into the crowd and got close enough to see a badly bloodied man hit the ground with a thud. Another man stood over him and sent a savage kick to the fallen man’s ribs. Cheers roared through the crowd as the victor spat at the fallen man as he was dragged away. 

The floor was haphazardly sprayed down with a hose. Sam’s stomach flipped as he watched the blood-tainted water circle the drain. He looked up when the music, and everyone around him, went quiet. 

A much smaller, well-dressed man stepped into the lights. “And now for the last fight of the championship round. We’ve got standing champion Lavochkin.”

The man who’d just beaten the other one stepped back into the makeshift ring, pumping his bloody fist in the air as the crowd's cheers drowned out the announcer who continued a moment later. “Versus our up-and-coming champion, Great White.”

Sam’s search for Dean ended when Dean came out from behind some larger men. He wasn’t being dragged or restrained. Dean just walked out like he owned the world. Someone who didn’t know him might have bought the act. They’d see the cocky strut and ignore the pain.

“Standard house rules apply,” the announcer said. “Keep it below the neck. Instant disqualification for face shots. Everything else is fair game. Last man standing wins.”

Dean’s old bruises were already smothered beneath newly forming ones smeared with blood. His knuckles were caked with it. This obviously wasn’t Dean’s first fight of the evening yet, considering what Sam had just seen, Dean was relatively unscathed. 

Dad had trained Dean to kill, and he’d used to have to hold back, but that was when Dean could walk up a flight of stairs without hurting. By how heavily he was leaning Sam wasn’t sure how much longer Dean would be able to stay upright without support, let alone fight. 

Sam was torn between wanting to run to his brother and wanting to walk out. It didn’t matter what Sam tried to do, Dean would find a new way to hurt himself, and Sam couldn’t watch it anymore. He couldn’t watch this. He wanted to feel as angry as he felt sick, but something else struck him. Dean wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

For five years, Dean had hidden, ashamed of his body and of everything he had been. Here he stood beneath the blaring lights wearing his scars like badges of honor. 

Dean’s act was even throwing Sam off. He knew what to look for and even he couldn’t see a shadow of the uneasy anxiety Dean had been drowning in since they'd lost Dad. Standing tall in front of the rabid crowd, Dean looked confident and almost at ease. 

If an official call to start the fight had been given, Sam hadn’t heard it, but in the next moment Lavochkin launched himself at Dean. Dean sidestepped him, somehow almost pivoting, which Dean hadn’t been able to do for years without throwing out his knee. 

Dean still had to remain on the defensive with most of his focus on protecting his leg while Lavochkin threw a barrage of punches. Dean let some of them land while blocking others. He wasn’t even trying to get a hit in. 

It wasn’t until they circled back around that Sam realized Dean had fooled both him and Lavochkin. It was hard to say how much of his limping was an act and how much was just him not trying to cover it up, but either way it served its purpose. 

Dean surged forward with all the power of a strike from the sharks he had chosen as his namesake. He hit hard and fast and where it counted. None of these men had ever had to fight for their life like Dean had. 

Lavochkin was nearly on the ground when something made Dean stop. He raised his head and his eyes locked with Sam’s. In an instant, all of Dean’s bravado fell away. Guilt and anxiety slipped back over his face. Dean tried to recover too late. Lavochkin was already on him. 

“Dean!”

It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion, knowing what would happen without being able to stop it. Sam tried to push past the hollering spectators, but Lavochkin had his opening and used it to smash his boot into Dean’s knee. 

A ragged cry tore from Dean’s throat as he dropped. Sam shoved the rest of the way through the bystanders only to be grabbed from behind as soon as he hit the front. He twisted in the grip of the two large men who hauled him back.

He called out to Dean when the grunts he heard this time were his brother’s. When Dean lifted his head, his gaze was unfocused with pain, but determination set in as he glared at the men who held Sam. 

Dean rolled and grabbed Lavochkin’s leg, pulling him to the ground. He crawled over and used one of the light stands to haul himself up. His feet were barely beneath him before Lavochkin jerked Dean’s arms behind his back and pulled him tight to his chest. 

Dean bucked in the grip as the man spoke against his ear, and went still before replying with words too quiet to hear beneath the crowd. Lavochkin roared and threw Dean forward into the light stand, grabbing him before he fell to throw his fist into Dean’s face. 

Brutal punches snapped Dean’s head to the side. He stumbled to the ground, landing in a sprawling crouch as the men let go of Sam to rush in to pull Lavochkin off. 

Sam only distantly heard the call disqualifying Lavochkin and declaring Dean the winner. He rushed forward and dropped down beside his brother. It didn’t look as if Dean could get up if he had to. 

Sam gingerly ran his hands over Dean’s beaten body. His skin was slick with sweat and blood. Dean used his hands to brace himself as he stared down at the blood dripping from his face to pool on the concrete. It was a sight that Sam had never wanted to see again.

“Oh God, Dean. What did you do?”

Dean didn’t seem to be listening to him. He was too busy flipping the bird to Lavochkin and trying to remain semi-upright. Dean coughed and spit the blood from his mouth. The left side of his face was already swelling. 

“Gotta get you out of here,” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes as he helped Dean to stumble to his feet. Dean hopped on his good leg before resting more weight than he should have on the other. Sam realized a moment later that Dean was still in a pissing match with the other fighter. 

“At least I got a girl to lose, you little cockslut!” Lavochkin spat as he strained against the men who held him back. “Cutting your girly locks don’t change a fucking thing. The only reason they let you in here is ‘cause you’re a cheap whore.”

Blood ran freely from Dean’s nose, staining his teeth red. A chill ran down Sam’s spine when the corner of Dean’s lips curled up into a smirk. “This cheap whore still kicked your sorry ass.”

“Cheating, scrawny gimp. That’s all you are. You and your girlfriend come around here again I’ll pound that ass of yours before I put you under. You hear me, bitch?”

“Blow me.”

Sam kept himself between Dean and the other man as he steered Dean towards the door. Blood from Dean’s cut brow was dripping into his eye and Sam wasn’t sure if Dean could really see. That Dean wasn’t thinking clearly either was confirmed when he spun away from the exit.

“Dean, no, we’re leaving.”

“Not until I get my cash.”

Sam hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any more uneasy than he already did, but those words stopped him in his tracks. This was everything he’d never wanted for Dean and yet it was the first time since the hospital that he’d seen the brother he’d lost.

***

Streetlights streaked by as they shot down Route 167. The flashes illuminated blood trailing down Dean’s swollen face, dripping from his chin to splatter onto his bruised chest. Sam squeezed his eyes closed against the older visuals that surfaced. It only made them worse. 

In his mind, Dean lay on the blood-smeared tiles, unmoving in a pile of gore. Scarlet puddles hugged his slashed forearms. Sam could hear the gurgle of Dean choking on his own blood and the wet rattle as Dean tried to breath through his shattered nose. He still remembered the dead weight as he’d dragged Dean’s broken body to the car without knowing whether or not they were being pursued. 

His eyes opened to focus on his own reflection laid over the blackness. There were no stars tonight, just the glow from the distribution warehouses settled in the near distance. It was late enough that few were still out on the roads. The cars that were out were speeding, mostly kids screwing around, like they should be. Dean passed them all.

Dean drove as if they were being followed, but hadn’t even glanced at the rearview mirror. If he had, Dean would have seen that there was no one there. There never had been. 

Sam gripped the seat. He wasn’t worried about anyone except for the police catching them and was far more afraid of Dean running them into a tree first. He wasn’t sure if Dean was even seeing the road or the cars that were smart enough to get out of his way. 

It wasn’t the worst Sam had ever seen Dean drive until Dean took a hand off the steering wheel, his eyes off the road and left his foot heavy on the gas. While Dean reached beneath his seat, the Impala coasted towards centerline and Sam readied himself to grab the wheel. There weren’t any other cars in sight at the moment, but it would only take a second for another to come over the next hill. 

“Damn it, Dean. What’re you doing?”

Dean swatted Sam’s hand away and straightened in his seat with his flask in hand. He steered back into his own lane as he fumbled to unscrew the cap with shaking hands. 

“Hey!” Dean hissed as Sam snatched the flask away. “Give it back.” 

“No.”

Sam tossed the flask into the backseat without a second glance. It thunked onto the floor and the Impala swerved as Dean turned around to reach for it. Dean sat back up a moment later, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. 

“What the hell, Sam?”

“I’m gonna miss graduation because, if we’re lucky, I’m going to be in the hospital giving you my liver.” Sam reached into the back to grab a bottle of Gatorade. “You’re probably already dehydrated.”

“That’s why I need a drink.”

Sam pushed the Gatorade bottle into Dean’s hand. “You need a doctor.” 

Dean sneered. “No, I need a drink that’s not the color of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ooze.”

“Just shut up and drink it. It’s too dark to see the color anyway.”

“You shut up and drink it,” Dean muttered. He gulped down half the bottle far too quickly then grimaced before passing it back. “How do you drink that crap?”

“Oh please, Dean. You can’t possibly have taste buds left.” 

Dean didn’t respond. The passing lights reflected off the sheen of sweat over his forehead even as he shivered. His breathing was too fast and his face was pinched with pain. He shifted his foot and something rattled on the floor. It sounded like a pill bottle. Sam hoped it was something that worked for pain, no matter how unlikely that was. 

Dean had been in near constant pain for years. The only thing nearly as constant was his refusal to touch any pill that came in an orange bottle no matter how bad it got. Right now, Sam would settle for non-prescription if it could at least take the edge off for Dean. 

Sam’s head rested against Dean’s trembling thigh as he lay over to reach beneath the driver’s seat. The denim was still moist with sweat. Sam breathed in the musky scent as he felt over the items on the floor. 

The smell of sweat and blood, whiskey and leather, it was Dean. The Dean who had been hidden beneath simmering spaghetti sauces and laundry detergent. It was Dean exhausted after a brutal training session or stumbling in after a late night hunt with blood dripping in his eyes and still grinning like a fool. 

Dean shifted and glanced down at him with a quirked brow. “You can’t wait until we get home to blow me?”

Sam’s fingers closed around the bottle. He hesitated when he realized it was a prescription bottle. The doctor had offered to write Dean a pre-surgery prescription for pain meds, but Dean had refused it. 

“Seriously, what are you doing down there?” Dean asked. His thigh tensed beneath Sam’s cheek. “Dude, get your hands off my shit.”

As soon as Sam sat up Dean scrambled to grab the bottle from him. Sam startled and instinctually pushed Dean away. He only barely saw Dean wince because he was too busy grabbing the wheel. 

“God, Dean, pull over if you’re not gonna drive.”

“I could drive if you’d quit fucking with my stuff.” 

Dean put one of his hands back on the wheel while he made another attempt for the pills with the other. Sam held them out of reach up where he could catch the light of the passing street lamps so he could read what it was that Dean didn’t want him see. 

It took a couple tries for him to be able to read that it was a half-empty OxyContin prescription made out to Fedir Boyko. Sam clutched the pill bottle in his hand and tried to think beyond the rapid pounding of his heart.

“Where did you get this?” 

For the first time since they’d left the garage, Dean fixed his gaze firmly on the road, stubbornly avoiding Sam’s eyes. 

“Dean? We don’t have a Ukrainian alias. Did you steal these?”

“What? No. I told you I wasn’t stealing and I’m not. I bought them fair and square off some guy at the garage.” 

Dean said it like it made sense and Sam didn’t even know what to say. He was the one who’d thought Dean should be taking painkillers. It was Dean who had refused them all along. 

“You wouldn’t take a prescription from Dr. Dover, but you took pills from some random illegal street fighter? Do you have any idea how monumentally stupid that is?”

“Story of my life. What can I say? He didn’t look like the date rape type. I just needed something to get through the fights.”

“You can’t do that. Numbing out the pain doesn’t change anything. The damage is still there, you just can’t feel it.”

“Yeah, that’s the general idea.” 

Sam shook the bottle again. “These plus the drinking, Dean, that will kill you. Is that also the idea? You wanna get away from me that bad?”

“No! Sammy, no. I just…” Dean winced and jerked in his seat as if electrocuted. “Fuck!” He shifted his weight to his left hip and sat hunched over, almost curled into himself. 

“Pull over.” Sam nudged Dean when he didn’t respond. “Dean, pull over or I will.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dean spoke through gritted teeth, struggling to steady his breath. “I’m a useless cripple, not deaf.” 

Dean didn’t pull over, but he did turn off at the first exit. He headed down a small side road and drove a few minutes longer before pulling over onto a muddy turnout beside the river. While Sam had never seen this spot before, it obviously wasn’t Dean’s first time here. 

The engine rumbled to silence, leaving only the rush of the water and Dean’s uneven breaths. Dean only sat a moment before throwing open the door and stepping out. He didn’t reach his full height before he collapsed to the ground. 

“Dean!”

Sam scrambled over the seat and out the driver’s door. He skidded in the muddy silt as he hopped over where Dean lay on his side, gripping his knee.

Sam hauled Dean up so he was sitting. He winced at Dean’s pained grunts as he propped him up against the car. Dean’s head slumped to the side and his eyes squeezed closed. Only the tension that remained etched into his brow told Sam that his brother was still conscious. 

A shiver shook through Dean’s body. His bare skin was cool and slick beneath Sam’s hand. The mud clung to his side and moisture soaked into both of their jeans. 

Sam used his sleeve to wipe the muck from Dean’s bloody face. He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled Dean forward so his brother’s head rested against his shoulder while he slid his jacket between Dean’s bare skin and the Impala’s cold steel. 

Dean lifted his head after Sam leaned him back against the car. “What’re you doing?”

“Trying to keep you from going into shock.”

“Drama queen,” Dean muttered. “It’s just a sore leg. Just need a second.”

Dean was far from okay, but they’d been here before. There was no point in trying to talk common sense into his brother now. Sam could only help him wait it out. He dropped down to the ground to sit with his arm wrapped around his brother, trying to block the cold breeze. Dean leaned in to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam squeezed tighter as he watched Dean’s eyes close. He pulled in a shaky breath and stared out onto the rushing rapids. 

He didn’t know what it was about the river that attracted Dean. Maybe it was the sound that calmed him or maybe it was the freedom of the water. The freedom Sam had taken away from him. 

Dean was too strong and beautiful to be the shadow he’d been reduced to. He thought everything he was had to be relegated to darkness and Sam knew that was his fault. He’d told Dean over and over that he couldn’t be what he was, that he’d had to fit into the mold. It was why Sam had fought with Dad and he’d turned around to do the same to his brother. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I know I fucked up.”

“No, Dean, I get it. I just want you to be happy and this isn’t the way.”

Dean sat up straighter, shaking his head. “Man, I can’t fucking do this anymore. I don’t belong behind some imaginary picket fence. I don’t deserve this.”

Sam squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “Neither of us deserved what happened.”

“No, I mean this life. I got no business being here.” Dean’s voice cracked. “I should’ve been able to stop it. I should’ve saved him.” 

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault. If I’d been there sooner—”

“You’d be dead. If it’d been you… I already hate that I’m the one still here when Dad could’ve actually taken care of you.”

“Are you serious?” Sam asked. “Dad barely survived Mom. What do you think he would’ve been like after losing you?”

“He would’ve gotten over it.”

“No, he wouldn’t have. Dean, you’ve always been the one holding everything together. I’m sorry Dad’s gone, but if Dad had been the one to walk away, neither of us would’ve made it. I just wish he was still here for you.”

Sam had thought things had been jacked before Dad died. He couldn’t even pretend that he’d never thought things would be better if only Dad were out of the picture. He’d been too young to understand. He’d seen Dean doing everything and hadn’t seen a need for Dad. What he’d never realized was how badly Dean had needed him. 

“He would be if it weren’t for me,” Dean said. “How could he think I could protect you?” 

“You gotta stop blaming yourself. I know it hurts, Dean. I know why you think it’s inside of you. Bobby told me everything.”

“You talked to Bobby?”

“I had to know and, Dean, it’s not what you think it was.”

“I know it wasn’t the shifter we thought. We went in with a silver blade and a pocket full of bullets. I thought we had it cornered. We were gonna wrap up real quick and bring you some pizza on the way home. But we were the ones that fell for the trap.”

Sam shook his head. Even the parts of the story Sam knew Dean didn’t remember right. Dean talked as if the logistic mistakes were his when he hadn’t even known anything about the hunt going in. 

Dad had just grabbed Dean one day as they’d come home from school. He’d told him to haul ass because Dad needed backup and Caleb wasn’t available. Dean had grabbed the weapons bag and had been waiting out in the car before Sam could protest.

“It blocked the door.” Dean leaned his head back against the Impala as he started out at the rocks. “I couldn’t even break the fucking window and Dad… It had him pinned up on the ceiling and it was in me. Taking things out and twisting them around.”

“Things in your head?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, I guess. Nightmares. That dog that jumped me when I was like five. Every sick piece of crap I’d ever seen. There it was in the bathroom, tearing Dad apart. I can still smell the fire and the sulfur. I can still hear Dad screaming.”

“God, Dean.” 

Sam fought to breathe when he heard the sob catch in Dean’s throat. Dean looked up into the black sky. The lamppost by the bridge caught the trail of tears that cut through the drying blood on Dean’s quivering chin. 

“I killed him, Sammy.” Dean looked down at his hand, trying to scrub away the blood he’d smeared from his nose. “And it’s still in me or it followed us. I don’t know.”

“There’s nothing there, Dean.”

“You can’t know that.”

“It was a tulpa.”

Dean’s moist eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t no damn fish.”

“Not tilapia — tulpa. It was a rogue thought form. Somebody thought this thing up and it became a entity of its own and it just kept getting stronger the more people it fed off. Bobby said it seemed to go for parents and kids. It’d kill one in front of the other.” Sam traced the scars that ran up Dean forearm. “I just don’t know why it tried to kill you. Bobby said it usually left one of them alive to keep feeding from.”

“That was me.”

Sam’s trailing fingers froze as he followed Dean’s gaze down to the scars. Part of why the hospital had said they’d had to hold Dean was because Dean had tried to kill himself. They’d said that Dean had told them he’d slit his own wrists. Sam had always thought it was ridiculous for them to claim that two of the wounds had been self-inflicted when the rest were obviously far beyond anything Dean could have done to himself. 

Dean brushed Sam’s fingers away and rubbed his own hand over his forearm. “I tried to stop it.”

“You tried to kill yourself?” 

“I was trying to kill it. I heard it in my head, telling me we were one and the same and Dad was screaming so loud. I mean, his throat was all over the fucking place, but I could still hear him.” Dean’s voice shattered. “Sammy, he was begging me to make it stop and I tried, I did, but it’d already taken my gun. I only had the knife and I couldn’t move my hands. All I could reach was my wrists and I couldn’t get the angle right to finish it.” 

Sam clutched Dean to his chest so hard neither of them could breathe. He couldn’t hear anymore. He couldn’t listen to Dean apologizing for being alive. 

Dean didn’t try to pull away. He just wrapped his arms around himself while he shook in Sam’s embrace. His body wracked with silent sobs as he buried his wet cheeks against Sam’s chest. 

“It’s gone, Dean.” Sam stroked his hand through Dean’s hair. “Some hunters figured out how to destroy it outside of Grayslake a few years ago. From what Bobby said, it sounds like it was around the same time you started getting better.”

“I still see it,” Dean whispered.

“I know. Bobby said it said it changed things inside the people it touched, but Dean, everyone one else this thing touched was dead or a vegetable in under a year. You’re the only that was strong enough to survive it. And you are going to survive it.”

“It should have been me.”

Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was still talking about Dad or not wanting to be here or just that he’d wanted to be the one to slay the monster. It wasn’t the ending Dean had wanted, but Sam knew it was the only one his brother would have survived.

***

Dean sat on the toilet seat with his legs splayed. His muddy pants lay in a heap on the floor along with Sam’s. He leaned heavily against the counter and the blanket Sam had wrapped around him began to slide from his bare shoulders. 

Sam tugged the blanket back up before returning to the sink. He wrung out the bloody washcloth beneath the faucet. The scarlet of Dean’s blood splattered against the porcelain then faded to pink before it was washed away. Sam held his hands beneath the hot water until it burned, only pulling back when every trace of blood had gone. 

He returned to crouch beside Dean to wipe the last of the blood and grime from his jaw and reveal the bruising beneath. The gash on his brow was the only thing that had needed a couple of stitches and they hadn’t agreed on that, but Dean had been too tired to sustain his protests and had let Sam have his way. 

Sam had closed the door to keep in the warmth from the filling bathtub. The splashing of water had filled the stillness of the air, plunging the room into silence when Sam shut it off. 

He stood and put his arm around Dean. “Come on, let’s get you in.”

Dean brushed aside his hands. “I’m not a damn invalid.”

“No,” Sam agreed as he wrapped his arm around Dean anyway. “But you were an idiot and screwed up your leg again.”

Dean remained sitting on the toilet as he stared at the bath. “I don’t want to the guy who needs his little brother to wipe his ass every time he falls. I don’t want to be what’s holding you back.”

“Dean, you’re not. After everything you’ve done for me, I want to be the one to help you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” 

Dean pushed off the counter and let Sam brace him as he limped over to the tub. Sam held him tightly as Dean lifted his stiff leg over the rim. There were still clear indentations in the swollen skin from the straps of the leg brace Dean had worn for the fight. 

He’d never seen Dean with a knee brace before and wasn’t sure where he’d gotten this one. The doctor hadn’t mentioned a brace and the one that lay on the floor beside the counter didn’t look like a cheap handout from a clinic. It looked like an actual sport brace that Sam had researched for Dean before and knew was priced way higher than anything Dean would buy for himself. 

Sam settled down on the edge of the tub once Dean was safely lying in the water. “Then what do you mean?” 

Dean leaned his head back against the scummy blue tiles. He stared up into the light above the tub and let the mask fall away. Everything from the way he sunk into the water to the exposed pain in his eyes made him look young and vulnerable yet as weary as an old man. 

“You really think this surgery could help?” Dean asked. “I mean, if the doctors didn’t see anything before…”

“You were right, Dean. I don’t remember Mom, but there’s a lot you don’t remember either. While you were in the ICU...they'd wanted me to start talking to someone about making arrangements because they couldn’t figure out how you were still alive. They said you'd never wake up. There were a lot of things they’d missed about you.”

Dean’s hand gripped the edge of the tub. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“I want you to let yourself get better.”

“I know. It’s just… Sam, I did talk to the hospital about the surgery. They want over $20,000 to fix this damn leg.”

Dean squeezed his swollen knee hard enough that he winced. Sam reached into the water to pull Dean’s hand away from his leg, holding Dean’s hand in his. 

“I don’t care how much it costs, Dean. This is killing you. Insurance will cover most of it, anyway.”

“We don’t have insurance.”

“But I thought—”

“I fucked up again, Sammy. The insurance was through the dealership. I thought it would run through the end of the month, but I guess Porter cut it off early. It took all our emergency cash just to do the damn tests.”

“You went ahead with the tests. You must’ve thought we could manage it.”

“I just knew it was important to you. I thought the docs would take one look at the damn thing and say, 'yep, that’s fucked'. Then you’d stop asking and I knew I had another fight coming to make up the cash, but then they said they could fix it...”

Dean’s hand slipped back beneath the water as he turned his head to stare at the tiles. “I know you wanted to play it all by the book, Sammy, but I can’t come up with that kind of money. Not like you want. It’d be a few grand out of pocket if we head up to Seattle and use someone else’s insurance. Your call.”

“Whether or not we get it fixed?” 

Sam couldn’t comprehend the thought that Dean might think he’d rather watch his brother spend the rest of his life in pain than do whatever they had to. He hoped it was only Dean trying to find a way out of going back to the hospital, and not what he actually believed.

“Dean, I’d be on board for a blood sacrifice if I thought that’s what it would take, but we don’t need insurance. I can get a job and we can set up a payment plan with the hospital.” 

“No,” Dean said with more strength than he looked capable of. “I want you in college with your friends, doing whatever it is normal kids do.”

“Normal kids work when their family needs money.”

“Then I guess you’re just gonna have to give up on that part of normal. Even if we could come up with that kind of cash, it’d be your school money.”

“Dean, I don’t need money for school.”

“You’re going to college and that’s fucking final.”

“Yeah, I am. I got a full ride to the UW.” 

Dean’s head shot up. “Seriously?”

“I just found out this afternoon. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“You did good, Sammy.” The corner of Dean’s split lips turned up. “You did real good.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Sam settled onto the floor beside Dean so that he was no longer looking down him, but sitting beside him. “I don’t want to do this without you.” 

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are and we’re gonna fix this, Dean, but it’s not like when you got banged up hunting. We can’t just drop into a random hospital without your medical records. Auburn General has a good surgery center, they already have your records and they’re close by. You know you’re going to have to let me drive home after the surgery, right?”

Dean scoffed. “I’m disabled, not suicidal.”

“You’re not disabled, Dean. You never were.”

“I guess you’re right. I only need one leg to drive.”

Sam elbowed Dean’s shoulder before leaning against the tub. “It’s all going to work out.”

“Sure.” Dean was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “I can have them do just the ACL and the removal instead of the repair on the cartilage thing.”

“This isn’t a car sale. If they can repair the cartilage then that’s what we’re doing. We’re not negotiating for a cheaper deal on your surgery just to save a few bucks.”

“For a full ride geek, your math really does suck ass.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to stick around to keep helping me study.”

Dean didn’t actually look convinced that anything would change, but the tension had eased from Dean’s shoulders and that was far more than Sam could have hoped for tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean sat twitching in his hospital gown. His hands kept gripping the sheets, clutching them in his fists and then releasing them. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, which focused on a place far from here. 

They’d had to get up at 5:30 AM to make it to the hospital on time. Dean acted like it was a big deal, but it was only fifteen minutes earlier than he usually got up and it wasn’t as if either of them had been sleeping anyway. 

Dean had also grumbled on about not being allowed to eat breakfast when he hadn’t eaten last night either and Sam had warned him then that he’d be starving by morning. The only thing that Sam believed that Dean was missing was his morning coffee and Sam had also skipped his so that the aroma wouldn’t tempt Dean. 

He wouldn’t have put it past his brother to shove down breakfast just to get out of the surgery. It was frustrating because Dean wasn’t afraid of surgery. He wasn’t even afraid of dying. 

The only reason Dean was making such a big fuss was because he didn’t want to be here in the hospital. Sam was sure that Dean wouldn’t have thought twice about surgery if they could’ve found a guy who’d do it in his dirty garage with a bottle of whiskey and dental floss.

“Shouldn’t we wait and come back when the doctors are actually awake?” Dean asked. 

The surgery wasn’t scheduled until 8:15 AM, which was thankfully getting closer. The doctors had only wanted them here early for registration and pre-op. It would’ve been fine if they’d knocked Dean out the second he’d walked in while he was still tired and disoriented, but two hours had given Dean far too much time to move past the basics of being hungry and exhausted. 

Sam finally had enough of the twitching and grasped Dean’s hand. His fingers brushed against the medical bracelet strapped to Dean’s wrist. His heart skipped a beat. 

He kept reminding himself how wonderful it was that they were here, but seeing Dean again sitting lost on a hospital bed was harder than Sam could have imagined. Last time they’d been here, Dean’s bed had been empty when Sam had come back. 

“We’ll leave when they’re done,” Sam said. “By this afternoon, you’ll be back to your chair and in a few days you’ll be driving me insane speed-racing around on those crutches.”

“I’m not using any damn crutches.”

“Sure, Dean. You don’t have to use crutches as long as you don’t mind coming back to keep redoing the surgery.”

Dean grumbled beneath his breath. 

Maybe that they weren’t coming back was why this time felt different than all the others times he’d sat at Dean’s hospital bedside. It used to be that the doctors were putting his brother together just so another hunt could rip him apart. This was different. 

They fixed this and they were done. Dean could have his life back. Sam knew it wasn’t actually that simple, not by far, but it was far simpler than most things in their lives had ever been.

“What’re you going to do once it’s better?” Sam asked.

“Beat your ass with those crutches.”

“Yeah, I'm looking forward to it.” Sam chuckled. “But seriously, you really could go to college, you know?”

Dean had completed the last GED test over at the community college several days ago. With Dr. Dover’s reference, they’d let him take the supervised breaks he’d needed to finish the tests without his leg killing him. It had also given Dean something to focus on other than the upcoming surgery.

Sam had wanted to do the surgery right away so that Dean wouldn’t have to think about it, but they’d had to wait until Dean’s bruising had healed. Even Sam couldn’t pretend that he didn’t still harbor an unconscious fear of the doctors finding reasons to take Dean away.

“Even if I passed, I don’t think GED is the acronym your fancy university wants.” Dean looked up from the sheets to meet Sam’s eyes. “It’s not what I want.”

Sam smiled. “Good.”

“’Good?’ Dude, you’ve been trying to get me into school for years.” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Awesome. I’m about to go have my leg hacked up by Nurse Ratched and my brother is possessed.”

“You’ve never said what you wanted. That’s a start.”

Dean relaxed back against his pillow. “While you’re taking requests, I also want a beer and one of those jumbo cheeseburgers. And you remember that apple pie at that cafe in Kentucky? We gotta go…”

Sam didn’t have to look behind him to know that a nurse had just walked into the room. He only had to watch the color drain from Dean’s face as he again went rigid on the bed. Sam rested his hand on Dean’s thigh before looking over his shoulder to smile at the nurse. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But they're ready for Dean in the operating room.”

Dean took in a breath and lifted the amulet from around his neck. Sam leaned forward to let Dean slide it onto him. Sam had worn it while Dean had been in the hospital and Dean likewise seemed to see it as assurance that they’d find their way back to each other. 

“It’s going be okay, Dean.”

It was a tired phrase between them, but for the first time in longer than Sam could remember, it wasn’t a lie.

***

Sam was going to kill his brother. 

Everything had been fine the first day after the surgery. The drugs had still been so heavy in Dean’s system that he hadn’t even cared about Sam driving the Impala. They’d come home and collapsed on the bed, and Sam had lain there next to Dean just watching his brother sleep. 

Now Dean was awake, had figured out that Sam had dumped all his alcohol and swore that he would never lie down again. It hadn’t been long before he’d also grown tired of sitting, which left Dean intent on trying to walk around when he was supposed to be on bed rest. 

Sam swore that Dean had purposefully stuffed the television remote beneath the cushions just so he had an excuse to get up and change the channel. Sam finally had to move the crutches away from the couch so Dean couldn’t reach them. 

“I’ve already seen this Oprah,” Dean called from the living room. 

Sam came back down the hallway from the bathroom rolling his eyes. “You’ve already seen all of them. There’s nothing else on. We’ll get some more movies tomorrow.”

Dean grunted a reply from where he lay on the couch with his leg propped up on a pillow set on the armrest. He’d be far more comfortable in bed, and Sam had even offered to carry the television in there, but Dean still insisted on camping out on the broken-down sofa. 

Dean had been okay with sitting in his chair until Sam had kicked him out of it. He’d let Dean sit in it all morning, but there was no way of elevating his leg as high as the doctors wanted and Dean wasn’t supposed to be staying in one position all day.

“How’s your leg doing?” 

Putting up with Dean’s complaining was more than worth it just to be able to ask that question. Since Dean now blamed the doctors for his condition, the topic of his leg was not only officially open for discussion, but Dean wouldn’t shut up about it. 

“Some job those surgeons did. It still hurts, and now it’s all leaky.” 

Sam did his best not to laugh. He remembered the first time Dean had really been hurt on a hunt. As Dad had sped down the highway, Sam had sat in the backseat with Dean lying over his lap. Dean had been holding his hand over his side, trying to keep the blood in as it oozed between his fingers. Dean had been fine with that, but post-surgery drainage through a few small holes in his knee was creeping him out. 

“They had to reconstruct your knee. It’s going to take more than two days to heal.”

“Reconstruct my ass,” Dean said as he glared at his knee. “It looks like all they did was play darts while I was out. For as much as they’re charging me, this whole damn leg should have been slit open.”

“They actually charge you more not to do that.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Told you we should’ve gone with the discount surgeon.” 

Sam sat down in Dean’s chair, watching his brother’s movements when Dean squeezed his eyes closed. It hadn’t been a statement of disgust that had made Dean cross his arms over his chest. He was trembling and trying to hide it. 

“Hey, Dean, you okay?”

Dean shifted on the couch, hesitating to answer. “I think it’s something they gave me.” His hand was unsteady as he wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. “My head is fucking killing me. Man, I need a drink. ”

Sam’s from deepened. He wouldn’t put it past Dean to subconsciously conjure up imaginary symptoms to prove that the doctors were trying to do whatever it was that he thought doctors did with pills, but Dean really did look sick and Sam wasn’t actually surprised. 

“It’s not the pills, Dean. They’re not giving you anything you haven’t had before. You’re going through withdrawal.”

Dean looked skeptical, but rested his head back to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. “Then it’s gotta be that damn oxy.”

“How much did you take?”

“I don’t know.” Dean counted on his shaking fingers. “Ten? Maybe twelve.”

“The whole time you were fighting you took a dozen pills? Dean, come on, Dad gave you more than that and you know it never bothered you coming off.”

“Well, this time’s different.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean, the doctor has you on Percocet. There’s no way you’re having oxy withdrawals because you’re still taking it.”

“Then Lavochkin must've laced those pills with something.”

“Or it’s the alcohol.” Sam leaned over the armrest of Dean’s recliner. “You haven’t had a drink for days.”

“No thanks to you.” Dean glared back at him. “I did the damn surgery. The least I deserve is a drink. Now why don’t you stop being a beer Nazi and go grab me a six pack?”

“It’ll still be a few years before anyone will sell me beer so we can talk about it then.”

“Dude, I’ve been drinking for years. I’ve never felt like this. I’m telling you, something's wrong and it’s not the fucking alcohol.”

“You’re right, Dean. You have been drinking straight liquor twenty-four-seven for the last five years. Your body thinks you need it.”

“So get me some or I’ll go get it myself.”

“Sorry, Dean.” Sam squeezed Dean’s trembling arm. “We haven’t come this far just so you can drink yourself to death. I need you to stick around.”

Dean gritted his teeth. He clenched his fists before taking in a slow, steadying breath and trying to force the tension from his body. “Fine, but you really do gotta find me something else to watch.”

***

Sam sat on the couch watching Dean sleep passed out in his chair. For the first time in days, he was finally lying still. 

Dean had spent the last couple of days in a cold sweat, jumping out of his skin at every sound. He’d all but stopped sleeping and the nausea had gotten bad enough that he hadn’t wanted to eat. The symptoms had moved past the point of being something to distract Dean from his leg to something Sam wanted to have looked at. Dean hadn’t. 

Sam had let him work through it on his own until he’d found Dean lying in the bed, holding his hand to his chest. His heart had been pounding so fast that even Dean had agreed to go back to the hospital. 

Sam knew Dean had thought he was having a heart attack, but much to his brother’s dismay, the doctors had only confirmed Sam’s diagnosis. Dean had yet to stop grumbling about having his whiskey replaced by yet more pills, but the griping had lost sincerity once the medication began to ease the withdrawal symptoms and finally let him sleep.

The relief was overwhelming. Not only from knowing that Dean felt better in the moment, but that he was actually going to be better. Everything was finally going to be better.

The phone rang and Sam hopped off the couch, sprinting to the kitchen to stop the ringing before it could wake Dean. Sam snatched the phone off the hook. He didn’t have to wonder who it was. There were only a couple of people who had this number and Ms. Baker would just come over if she wanted to check in on them. 

“Hey, Bobby, were you able to get everything together?”

“Who’s this?” the gruff voice on the other end asked. 

The voice was rough enough to belong to Bobby, but it wasn’t him. There was still something familiar about it.

“Phil?” Sam asked. “This is Sam, Dean’s brother. Are you the guy from his work?”

“Guilty as charged, kid. Hey, Sammy, is Dean floating around there somewhere?”

At first Phil had reminded Sam of Bobby, but now he was beginning to wonder if the man was far more like Dean. Despite the easy words, Sam could hear the unease in Phil’s tone. Even though he didn’t know the man, he’d heard Dean talk about him enough to know that Dean trusted him. 

“Actually, Dean just finally got to sleep. He’s been recovering from surgery. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine. So surgery? Well, damn. Don’t tell me he finally got somebody to look at that leg.”

Sam smiled at the concern he heard in the man’s voice. “He sure did. Do you want me to have him call you back?”

“Well, seeing as I won’t get a straight answer from that boy, might as well ask you. How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing okay... Why?”

“This ain’t really my place, but you know about him and Porter?”

Sam’s brow knitted. He knew far more than he’d ever wanted to know about Dean’s relationship with Porter, but since he’d gotten involved with Dean, he hadn’t thought much of Dean’s old boss. Now concern edged in as he heard the agitation in Phil’s voice. 

“Yeah, I know about Porter,” Sam answered carefully. He wasn’t sure what Phil was really asking and didn’t feel comfortable saying any more than he had to. 

“Well, you’re ahead of me then. I just found out about that jackass. Got a new kid in the shop and, Porter, that fucking prick, made a move on that one, too. Old fool I am… I thought Porter was a great guy for giving these hard-off kids a chance. I had no fucking clue what he was doing to them.”

Sam’s mind was spinning too quickly to come up with a coherent thought. He asked the first semi-appropriate question that came to mind when the line lapsed to silence. 

“How many others were there?”

“Don’t know. This other kid was the first one to came to me, guess he didn’t need the money as bad as Porter thought.”

“The money?” Sam asked. “Porter was paying him.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question because he didn’t need Phil to confirm it. Dean had been insistent that Porter wasn’t his boyfriend even after what Sam had seen. He’d assumed it was semantics. It’s not like Dean had ever really had girlfriends either, just the girls he slept with. 

But then Lavochkin had said what Phil was telling him. Sam had thought they’d just been meaningless words to goad Dean into another fight and Dean had just been too out of it to deny them, but Dean hadn’t denied them, because they were true. 

Sam used his free hand to brace himself against the counter as he focused on not being sick. He barely heard Phil’s next words. 

“I threatened to report the bastard just to scare him, but Dean and the other kids, law says they’re old enough to consent. I didn’t want to risk charges coming down. I feel like the world’s biggest sucker... I just needed to make sure Dean was okay and that someone who was there for him knew. I thought we were protecting him. Didn’t take a psychiatrist to see that the kid had issues enough without someone else fucking with him like that.”

“You didn’t know.”

But Sam should have. He should have seen the reluctance Dean had with Porter and with him. Dean had even told him that the thing that had killed Dad had bound his hands. There was no way Dean actually liked his wrists being tied and he’d always thought suits were a joke. 

“For what that’s worth,” Phil said. “Hey, I know he’s a proud kid so just tell him what you think he needs to hear and if he’s needing of work, you tell him I left those bastards in the dust. Just bought a shop where we’re fixing real cars. It'd be a real pleasure having him aboard.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“You’ll tell me what?”

Sam slammed down the receiver before spinning to face his brother. Dean was still in the hall where the carpet muffled his crutches. He moved forward into the kitchen once Sam knew he was there. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked.

“Anything you’d like to add to that question, Mr. Cryptic?” Dean stared at him. “You’re looking a little green there, Sammy. What’s going on?”

“That was Phil.”

“Phil…? From the dealership?” Dean began to look uneasy. “Okay. So did I leave my watch there or something?”

“What was Porter doing to you?”

Dean went pale, but quickly recovered. “Why you asking me? You had a front row ticket to one of the shows. Now you want a blow by blow?”

“I know he was paying you to do those things.”

Dean’s head dropped to his chest and he spun around. It wasn’t exactly a quick escape. It took some maneuvering to turn the crutches in the small kitchen and Sam had to walk slowly to follow him down the hall. 

“It’s not like you can run, Dean.” His brother looked like he was heading for the door until Sam said the words then his shoulders slumped and he turned for the living room. “I just want to know why.”

“Why’d Porter hire a high school drop out with no job history and no clue how to work on a modern car?”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked. “You work on cars all the time.”

“Obsolete cars.”

It wasn’t a word that Dean used in his daily vocabulary. It carried concealed anger and a tone that made it sound like a quote.

Sam’s anger also broiled up all over again as he imagined Porter putting down the Impala. That car was the only thing beside him that Dean cared about. It was all Dean had left of Dad and was the only thing that was really his. 

“Only two things I’m good for.” Dean lowered himself onto the couch, rougher than he should have and shoved the crutches aside. They clattered to the floor. “Fucking and fighting doesn’t fit most resumes.” 

“That’s crap, Dean. You could do anything. Why would you do that?”

“You don’t think I haven’t thought about what Dad would say every time I deep-throated a dick?” Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “What Mom would think?”

The thought had never crossed Sam’s mind. Maybe he should feel bad about it, but he never thought about what Mom or Dad would think about anything. They weren’t here. Dean was. 

“They’d know you were doing what you thought you had to and that it wasn’t your fault. Porter never should have used you like that.”

“Used me? I’m not some damn victim here. The guy asked if I needed quick cash. We were two days away from being back on the streets. I said ‘hell yeah, sign me up’. I mean, the guy was a dick, but he never hurt me. It’s not like I couldn’t have taken him if I’d had to.” 

“You didn’t want it. You were desperate and he took advantage of you.”

“This isn’t one of your stupid date rape movies! Do I look like a cheerleader strung out on roofies?” At Sam’s look, Dean sagged back into the couch cushions. “Man, don’t answer that. I was just lucky he didn’t kick me out on my ass the first time he got a real look at me. I guess these lips make up for me looking like a chainsaw massacre survivor.”

“You can’t really think that’s how you look.”

Dean lowered his eyes. “Don’t matter what I think as long as it’s good enough for you.” 

Sam settled onto the couch beside him. “Did you ever want me?”

“Of course I want you, Sammy.”

“Do you even like guys?” Sam caught Dean’s hand as it stroked down his thigh. “Dean, don't lie to me.”

“Okay, so I don’t like cock, but I love you.” Dean shrugged. “And it’s just sex.”

“With your brother.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that. This is something I can do for you. I don’t want you to go find someone else. I promised Dad I’d take of you.”

“Dean, this isn’t what he meant and I never wanted you to give up everything. How could you even think that?” 

“I was just doing my job. I told you, this is what I wanted. For you to have everything.” 

Sam squeezed Dean’s hand. “I already had everything. I don’t need you to change who you are just because I’m a freak.”

“Dude, I’m a whore and you think I got a problem with you liking guys?” 

“I don’t like guys, Dean. I like my brother.”

“See, we are on the same page. Besides, you think I don’t know how hard this is to resist?” Dean motion towards his face. “I mean, come on, Sammy, it’s not like anyone could blame you.”

“It not like I don’t want it, but just having you here is enough.”

“Yeah, you say that now. Just wait until your balls explode. I told you, that abstinence business they’re teaching you is crap.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want you to do this just because I want it. Only if you do. Only if you really want it for yourself, Dean, and I know you don’t.”

“I really do want blowjobs.”

“Why doesn't that surprise me?” Sam chuckled softly as he slapped Dean's shoulder. “Okay, but I really want you to think about it, and I don’t need an answer tomorrow. Or ever. I’m not going anywhere, Dean, and I don’t want you to be Mom or Dad or my boyfriend or whoever else you think I want. I just want my brother back.”

Dean slipped his arm around him. “You never lost him, Sammy.”


	9. Chapter 9

They sat at the picnic table together, hiding in the shade of the old maple tree. A breeze kept the air from being too warm, but Sam was still sweating beneath the synthetic fabric of his graduation gown. He felt like an idiot still wearing it, but it seemed to be pleasing Dean nearly as much as the holder for Sam’s diploma.

Dean sat across from him with his legs also tucked beneath the table, brushing against Sam’s. He had the diploma holder stood up between them and worked on making a pyramid with the stack of M&M packets he’d won at the Family Fun Center.

“We sure cleaned them out,” Dean said.

“Yeah, I don’t think Jeff is sorry that’s the only time we came to mini golf.”

“What can I say? Some guys just aren’t cut out for the major leagues.”

Sam tugged at his gown’s collar. “Can I take this stupid thing off yet?”

“In a minute.” Dean tore into another M&M packet and popped a handful into his mouth. “I’m not done enjoying it.”

“Why am I the only one who has to dress up? It’s your graduation too.”

Sam pulled off his graduation cap and leaned over the table to balance it on Dean’s head. Dean adjusted it so that it was actually on before he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, but you look better in a dress.” Dean blew at the tassel as it tickled his nose. “And you’re the one with all those fancy honor cord things.”

“Dean, if you’d gotten a higher score on your GED, they would’ve had to give you honors.”

“Well, I told you I’d kick that test’s ass, didn’t I?”

Sam smiled, happy to believe the lie. “You sure did, Dean.”

Dean polished off what had to have been his fifth packet of M&Ms and wiped his hands on his jeans before rubbing them together. “Okay, costume party’s over. Time for presents.”

Sam’s stomach knotted at the thought of moving past this moment, which he’d hoped would last just a little bit longer, if not forever. “You didn’t have to get me a graduation gift.”

“I wanted to.”

“You’re not going to stop playing that card anytime soon are you?”

Dean smirked. “Nope.”

Dean knocked back a sip from his cola can before he slid off the picnic table's bench seat. He still wasn’t up to the running and jumping stage, but he had graduated from crutches and the physical therapist, who was thankfully hot enough to hold Dean’s attention, had helped him almost completely normalize his walking.

Dean stopped partway to the garage when he saw that Sam was also standing. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get your present.”

“Hey, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“You can’t get everything you want, Dean.”

“Stingy bastard.”

Sam watched Dean’s slow, but smooth steps as he walk on to the garage. Once Dean was out of sight, Sam jogged into the house. He pulled off the gown and grabbed a box from the front closet. He hefted it up and had to tuck his arms in to squeeze through the doorway to get it back out into the yard. By the time he set it on the picnic table, Dean came out of the garage carrying a box that was so big he had to crane his head to see over it.

Dean set his box beside Sam’s and stood back. As he tipped his head to the side, Dean frowned at the identical used shipping boxes that had apparently both come from the grocery store’s back lot.

“I sure as hell hope we didn’t get each other the same thing.” Dean nudged Sam. “Well, go ahead. Open it.”

“Dean, that box is moving.”

“That’s why mine gets to go first.”

While they stood there staring at it, the box leaned slightly to one side, then the other. It stilled for a moment before there was scratching at the cardboard then a sharp yip. Sam raised his brow and Dean again nodded towards it. Dad had taught them not to open strange boxes, but Sam was afraid to open this one for very different reasons than he ever had been before.

Dean stood to the side, watching expectantly as Sam pulled back the flaps to peer inside. There was a beating against the heavy cardboard as a puppy’s tail excitedly wagged at the crack of sunshine.

Sam shoved aside the other flaps and the puppy tried to jump out. He steadied the box so it wouldn’t fall and shook his head as he scooped the puppy into his arms. It’s tail wagged faster than seemed physically possible when Sam held it to his chest.

It wasn’t some random mutt that Dean had grabbed from the pound as an afterthought. It was a beautiful, well-bred golden retriever that couldn't have more perfectly fit the picture of what Sam had told Dean he’d wanted before he’d known better.

The puppy’s paws set against Sam, licking his face. Sam clutched it against him as he looked past the exuberant puppy to Dean. "When did you have time to hunt down a puppy?”

“Ms. Baker hooked me up with a breeder. It’s Ralph’s half brother or something and I knew you liked that mutt.”

“God, Dean, he’s perfect,” Sam whispered. His unsteady hand petted the puppy’s head as he blinked the moisture from his eyes. “But I can’t keep him.”

“Sure you can.”

“I can’t keep you here.”

Dean looked startled as his eyes flashed up to catch his. “Sam...”

“Dean, you’ve given me everything and it’s been perfect, it really has, but it’s nearly killed you. I know you’ve been miserable here and I can’t do that to you.”

Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes before he stepped forward. “That’s not true, Sammy. You, here, happy…that’s all I ever wanted. I really do want you to have your life here, go to college and have a damn dog that’ll piss all over the place and probably eat us both in the middle of the night.”

Sam clenched his jaw as he scratched behind the puppy’s ears. Dean said it like a throwaway joke, but Sam knew it wasn’t. He hadn’t missed Dean’s comment that one of the things he’d watched kill Dad had been a dog. Not only did Dean not like them, but on some level he was afraid of them and, from Dean’s worldview, canine possession and skinwalker puppies were a half-legitimate paranoia.

Sam nodded towards the box he’d brought out. “Open yours.”

Dean poked at the box first as if to be sure that his wasn’t also moving. He looked to Sam before opening the lid then stood stiffly, staring inside.

Sam readjusted the puppy’s weight as he watched Dean finally reach in to pull out a high-end EMF detector. His fingers ran over the controls as he scanned over the other items in the box. It was packed with detection devices, specialty knives and everything else that was missing from the Impala’s trunk.

“I know you sold Dad’s,” Sam said.

“How?”

“I was going to move your stuff into the house, but when I went to get it, half the stuff in the trunk was gone. I thought maybe you’d moved it somewhere else, but only the valuable things were missing. I knew you’d sold them for me.”

“Where the hell did you get the money for all this?”

“I had Bobby put it together. Dean, I want you to be safe, but I also want you to be who you are and if you’re willing to stay here, I want it to be our home base, not a prison.”

“This is…” Dean swallowed hard. “But I’m not gonna leave you, Sammy.”

“And I’m not going to let you.”

“What about Cujo and college?”

“Dean, you’re not naming our dog Cujo.”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

“You just started that new job with Phil and it’s still going to be a few months before you can hunt on that leg. When you’re ready, we can start with weekend trips. I’m sure Ms. Baker won’t mind dog sitting _Clyde_ when we’re out of town.”

“You’d really go back to hunting for me?”

“Dean, how many times do I have to tell you? I’d do anything for you.”

Dean reached out to pet Clyde’s squirming back, pulling away just before the puppy could lick him. “Then I think we should start hunting right away.”

“Before your leg heals?”

“Yep.” Dean smirked. “That way you have to dig the graves.”

“Oh, no. You’re the one who wants to hunt. You’re doing all the digging.”

“In your dreams, Sammy.” Dean threw his arm around Sam’s shoulder and patted his bicep. “We gotta get some muscles on these scrawny-ass bones somehow.”

Dean laughed, really laughed. It was nearly more than Sam could take. His brother’s laughter was a sound he’d always taken for granted until it had faded to silence. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Sam still couldn’t bring himself to set Clyde down to walk on his own as he watched Dean stare into the box of hunting supplies. Dean blinked before scooping up the M&Ms to add to the box and carefully setting the diploma on top. He lifted the box into his arms and joined Sam’s side as they walked back towards the house.

“So what’re you and Clyde making me for dinner?” Dean asked.

“Whatever you want, Dean.”


End file.
